It's Cancer! 444g1x

IT’S CANCER!

Teresa Avery

Copyright © 2012 by Teresa Avery.

Library of Congress Control Number: 2012920180 ISBN: Hardcover 978-1-4797-4107-6 Softcover 978-1-4797-4106-9 Ebook 978-1-4797-4108-3

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

To order additional copies of this book, : Xlibris Corporation 1-888-795-4274 www.Xlibris.com [email protected] 109120

CONTENTS

Foreword

Chapter One Elvis And Me

Chapter Two A New Adventure

Chapter Three What Is That?

Chapter Four Biopsy

Chapter Five Diagnosis

Chapter Six Sisterly Love

Chapter Seven Back To Work

Chapter Eight Vandy

Chapter Nine Pink Ribbon Network

Chapter Ten Lumpectomy

Chapter Eleven Vegas, Baby!

Chapter Twelve First Day Of Chemotherapy

Chapter Thirteen Chemo—Take Two

Chapter Fourteen Gi Jane

Chapter Fifteen Blue Angel

Chapter Sixteen Where Is Everyone?

Chapter Seventeen I Did It!

Chapter Eighteen Mommy’s Baby Girl

Chapter Nineteen Changes

Chapter Twenty Six Weeks

Chapter Twenty-One Relay For Life

Chapter Twenty-Two Summer

Chapter Twenty-Three Survivor

To all the women in the world who have either been diagnosed with breast cancer or had a close loved one who has.

To two of my biggest fans and ers: my mom and sister, who have always been there for me through the good times and the bad, who also inspired and encouraged me to write my story. I love you guys!

To my son, Gunnar, you are my heart. I love you.

FOREWORD

First things first, I am a daughter, a sister, a mom, a friend, a teacher, and just recently, a guidance counselor. I was always an active child. I was a gymnast for many years all because my third-grade teacher suggested that I might do well in it. During the summers, I played softball for six years in a row. In high school, I was a pom-pom girl from my freshman to senior year, and I also ran track but only for one year, to my regret. I was very athletic and healthy. Known as a good girl, I never drank alcohol or did drugs. I was one of the few who graduated high school as a virgin. Always playing by the rules, a Miss Goodie Two-Shoes, my siblings used to tease me by calling me Mother Teresa. I hated it back then, but looking back now, it fits. As a mother, I try to be supermom. When my son, Gunnar, was born, I was twenty-two. As a young mother, I knew the importance of being home for your child. I was living in Illesheim, , because my husband was in the army. I didn’t have a college degree and knew that I needed a career. So I thought long and hard as to what field I should go into. The only profession that I could think of that would allow me to be home when my child was and at work when he was at school was a teacher. So as soon as I returned to the States, I went back full time and taught gymnastics part time to help pay for Gunnar’s day care. I did my homework and projects during his naps and late at night when he was sleeping. I started back when he was fourteen months and finished when he was four and a half. I have a career, a family, and a life. Time has surely flown by very quickly, and Gunnar has grown up to be a fine young man. My life has change a lot over the past four decades. I am a wife for the second time around. Again, I married into the military. Just eight months into our new life, as all my dreams were beginning to come true, I was hit with a challenge like no other.

CHAPTER ONE Elvis and Me

When I think of Elvis, I think of the King of Rock ‘n’ Roll, Elvis Presley. I think of how talented, charismatic, and handsome he was. I always enjoyed his movies and songs. Everyone who knew him loved him. That is why, when I had heard about this man named Elvis within my circle of friends, I was instantly curious who they were talking about. My ears perked up with interest whenever his name was mentioned. I didn’t know at that time why he was called Elvis, but I wanted to find out. All I knew was that he worked as a Black Hawk helicopter pilot in the army and was stationed at Fort Campbell, Kentucky. I also knew that he was generous, successful, and respected by several people. Judging from the stories that were told, I was intrigued with this man, sight unseen. He definitely sounded like someone who I would like to hang out with and possibly get to know much better. I met Elvis one fall evening at Kickers Dance Club and Bar in Clarksville, Tennessee. I was upstairs, shooting a game of pool with a few friends, when I looked at the stairs and saw my friend Kelly with her new boyfriend, Chris. Behind them was a very tall, dark-haired, and extremely handsome man. I quickly ran up to Kelly and gave her a big hug. “Who is that tall drink of water?” I asked. She said, “Elvis.” “That’s Elvis?” I said, immediately smitten by him. Kelly introduced us, and as soon as our eyes met, I felt butterflies in my stomach. I had never had that happen before. I was instantly attracted to him and couldn’t help myself from smiling ear to ear. I was wearing my black pants that fit me just right with a medium blue shortsleeve T-shirt that had laces on the sides, and my long naturally curly brown hair was straightened. I was looking and feeling pretty hot. I felt confident that he was in my league, and I was secretly hoping that he was digging me too. We couldn’t keep our eyes off one another. He made sure that when we sat down

at the table that he was right next to me. I began to get a little nervous, and my palms started to sweat. We made small talk, but the music was so loud that it was hard to hear each other. We all decided to get out onto the dance floor and let the music take control of our bodies. Elvis and I danced really close. There was no question—he was definitely attracted to me. We didn’t have to say a word. We both knew there was some kind of unspoken magnetism between us. However, I was just coming out of a marriage and was not ready to begin something new. So being the good girl I was, we went home separately and didn’t exchange numbers. Chalk it up to bad timing. Months went by before I saw him again. This time, we accidently ran into one another at a bar called The Tap Room, which is above a local favorite pizzeria and brewery called The Black Horse. Many men and women associated with the military go here frequently, so it was full of eligible and good-looking bachelors. Who doesn’t love a man in uniform? I was with my friend Sherry, and he was with his friend Chuck. I was not expecting to see him and was totally unprepared. From across the room, our eyes met, and instantly, he recognized me. Sherry and I walked over to the guys and pulled up a stool next to them at the bar. We ordered a small drink and started a conversation with the boys. Were the butterflies still there? Yes, and this time, they were even stronger. Sherry knew that I was interested in Elvis but warned me that he was a player. So I played it cool and cautious. We told Elvis and Chuck that we were planning on going to Kickers, so we couldn’t stay long. To our surprise, and my delight, they wanted to tag along. They had already been drinking for a while and were in no shape to drive, so I drove Chuck in Chuck’s truck while Sherry had Elvis ride with her in her jeep to our next destination, which wasn’t that far away. The four of us made it to Kickers in minutes. Even though we drove in separate vehicles, Elvis was quickly by my side. We made our way upstairs where they played current hits that everyone loved to dance to. Downstairs was country music, and I don’t think the guys knew how to two-step, but I didn’t care.

We sat down at a table and ordered drinks. We talked, laughed, and danced for a couple of hours. We even ventured downstairs to the karaoke room, but we all chickened out. By now, it was getting late, and we were getting tired, so it was time to go. I drove Chuck’s truck, but this time, Elvis managed to find his way in the truck with me. Sherry drove Chuck to his house in her jeep. As I drove Elvis back to Chuck’s house, we talked about many things. He informed me that he was from Chicago and that he had a two-year-old daughter who lived there as well. He had never been married, and he didn’t have a girlfriend. I was thinking, Why is he still single? He is too good to be true. It was a short drive to Chuck’s house, and before I knew it, we were there. I parked Chuck’s truck and handed him his keys. Sherry and I hugged Elvis and Chuck good-bye. Then we headed back home once again without exchanging numbers, so nothing came of it yet again. A few more months went by, and I was getting lonely and kind of depressed. I hated being single. I was beginning to think that I would never meet the right man. I wanted an educated, successful, and fun man. Someone who could keep me on my toes and motivate me to step out of my comfort zone to be more adventurous. I guess I had high expectations, but deep down, I knew that the man of my dreams was out there. My mind kept coming back to Elvis. I knew we had a connection, but I was very shy and would never make the first move . . . or would I? After a few unsuccessful dates, I decided to take matters into my own hands. I asked Kelly to talk to Chris to see if Elvis would be interested in having a date with me. I felt like I was back in high school, but I had to do something because I was in dating hell. I knew that I liked him and was pretty sure that he liked me too. A few days later, Kelly called me with great news. Elvis was indeed interested and would be calling me soon. When he called, we talked for hours. We were both pleasantly surprised at how easy our conversation was. I found out why he was called Elvis. His first name was really James and his last name was Costello. So the nickname had nothing to do with Elvis Presley, but Elvis Costello, another singer—one that I wasn’t too familiar with. It was still a cool nickname. His family called him Jim, but because my ex-husband’s name was Jim, I

decided to keep calling him Elvis. We had a lot to talk about, and there was an obvious attraction. So we decided to set up a date for the following weekend. I was so excited and giddy. I felt like a teenager. The weekend couldn’t get here fast enough. He planned the entire date. We drove to Nashville to buy him some new clothes at Opryland Mall. He needed a woman’s perspective when it came to picking out clothes and wanted my advice. While walking in the mall, I was starting to get a chill, and my hands felt like ice, so I grabbed Elvis’s hand, and we continued to shop hand in hand just like school kids. It was so innocent and sweet. Later, we had dinner at Sala Thai—a Thai restaurant on West End. They had the best spring rolls I had ever tasted. There was this amazing dipping sauce that kind of tasted like peanut butter. Yum! At dinner, our conversation flowed, and I learned more about him. We talked about the different countries that he had visited. I was fascinated but at the same time jealous. Ever since I was a little girl, I had wanted to travel and see the world, and he had already been to Australia, Korea, and China. So far, the date was going exceptionally well. As we got into the truck to head for our next venue, he leaned over and gave me a kiss on the lips. The kiss was soft and sensual. My heart skipped a beat, and chills went throughout my entire body. This is how a kiss should feel, I thought. We were off to Bourbon Street Blues Club downtown in Printers Alley. The music was intoxicating, or was it Elvis’s company? I felt so alive. I was living in the moment, something that I hadn’t done in a very long time. I had never been to Nashville or a Thai restaurant or even a blues club. Man, did I need to get out more. We enjoyed the nightlife and music until midnight. Then he drove me home, and we kissed good night. My stomach did flip-flops, and I felt all warm inside. I walked into my house and couldn’t believe that I had just been on the best date in my life. I knew I was going to see him again, and I couldn’t wait. We continued to have an amazing connection and numerous wonderful dates. We had such a delightful time with each other that I didn’t want it to end. Elvis and I

ended up dating for a couple of months. However, time drew near for him to leave for training at Fort Rucker, Alabama. He was going to be gone for two months, then return to Fort Campbell. While he was gone, we didn’t talk that much, and I knew deep down inside that something was wrong. So I officially ended it before he could. Did I just get played? I think so, but I soon realized that I was still heartbroken from my exhusband, and I just wasn’t ready for anything serious. It was just too soon. I had to find myself before I could fully give my heart away again. In February 2003, Elvis along with many other soldiers, deployed overseas for Operation Iraqi Freedom. I watched with the world while the war progressed, praying and hoping for a quick fight and victory. Fort Campbell and the surrounding towns were empty due to the soldiers’ absence. It was a strange sight, and everyone here missed our men and women in uniform desperately. The local area felt kind of like a ghost town. This was a new normal that we all had to get used to. Time slowly ed by. Summer was finally here—something that every student and teacher looks forward to. Unfortunately, I had to work a part-time summer job at BB&T Bank to help save money for my master’s degree. In Kentucky, teachers had to have their master’s by their tenth year of teaching, or they couldn’t continue teaching. I had just finished my fourth year. I was still a single mother, but my son was visiting his grandparents in Indiana and Minnesota for the next few weeks. I was on my own and working hard for the money. I came home from work one day and checked my e-mail like I do every day. Were my eyes playing tricks on me? No, there it was . . . an e-mail from Elvis. My heart started to race, and my eyes began to water. What is wrong with me? Did I still have feelings for this guy? I read the letter, but I didn’t know what to do about it. Do I ignore him or do I reply? I decided to think on it. I told my girlfriend, Lea Ann, about it, and her advice was to delete it and not to reply. I didn’t follow her advice and decided to respond. I wrote him back, to his surprise. We began writing letters via e-mail frequently. I would receive an email almost every day. I would tell him about my days, and he would tell me about his. I sent him CARE packages, and he would call me when he could. He

even sent me a package from Iraq with neat knickknacks only found over there. We decided that we would start fresh and give dating another try. When he returned to the States, we would renew our relationship and see where it goes. Elvis came back home at the end of December 2003. I was so happy to see him. It felt like we were never apart. Everything felt so easy and natural. Things between us were great, as expected. He was the man I was supposed to be with —I knew it. And this time, I was ready, but was he? We took a trip to Memphis, Tennessee, to see Graceland to celebrate Valentine’s Day. Elvis and I walked up and down Beale Street. It was a cold night, but we kept each other warm and had a blast. We tasted the famous barbecue at one of the many restaurants. We went dancing and hit more blues clubs. As the night wore on, we even saw an Elvis impersonator singing and ended up catching the tail end of his set. Jim joked around, saying that if he was ever to get married that he would want to do it in Vegas by an Elvis impersonator. I thought he was crazy, but that is what I loved about him the most: his sense of adventure. In March, Elvis had to leave once again for training in Fort Rucker, Alabama. Déjà vu. Was this happening again? We were doing the long distance thing once again. Elvis had told me that after his training in Fort Rucker that he had to do a year tour in Honduras. We knew we didn’t have much time together, so we decided not to think about it and just focus on enjoying each other’s company. A couple of months wasn’t nearly long enough for me, but for now, he was still stateside and only eight hours away. So I drove down to visit him for a few days. During my visit, he took me down to Destin, Florida. We stayed at this quaint bed-and-breakfast right on the beach called Henderson Inn. The coast wasn’t too crowded because it was still winter, but that didn’t keep us from enjoying what Destin had to offer. We would walk up and down the white sandy beach watching the sunset. It was so romantic and amazingly beautiful. Our room had a balcony, which faced the ocean. We would fall asleep and wake up to the waves crashing along the shore. It was so relaxing and peaceful. Those two days in Destin went by way too fast. It was time for me to go back to home. I had to get back to the real world and spring break was just around the corner. Elvis and I were back to phone calls and e-mails.

During one of my conversations with Elvis, we discussed his tour in Honduras and our expectations. We couldn’t ignore it any longer. I had felt like I had already waited for a year and wasn’t prepared to wait another year unless he gave me some kind of commitment. I told him I wasn’t expecting a ring, but I needed to know that he would be faithful and that once this tour was over, we would be together. After all, I did eventually want to get married again one day. He didn’t know what to say and thought about our situation. I didn’t hear from him for a day or two, and then he called. He said that he wanted to spend some time with me. He was going to come up and visit me for the weekend. I thought that was a great sign. However, Elvis really didn’t know where he was going to be stationed after his tour in Honduras. He also had a huge fear of commitment and marriage. He knew that he wasn’t ready. So he broke up with me, and that was it. At least he had the guts to do it face-to-face, which made me not hate him so much. I thought to myself, He will realize one day what he had, and then it will be too late. A year went by, and I heard it through the grapevine that Elvis was back at Fort Campbell and looking for a place to live in Hopkinsville. What? Why would he want to live in Hopkinsville, knowing full well that that is where I reside? Why couldn’t he just live in Clarksville like he did before? That kind of made me mad. I it I was afraid to run into him again. Then true to his nature, one day in August, I received an e-mail from him. This time, I followed my head, not my heart, and ignored him. I was thinking of blocking him completely from my e-mail but didn’t exactly know how. He informed me in one of his e-mails that he intended to keep e-mailing me until I replied. He kept on e-mailing me, and the fool I was kept reading them, but I didn’t respond. It was now close to Thanksgiving, and one letter tugged at my heart and curiosity. His words were somewhere along the lines of that he couldn’t stop thinking of me and he wanted to see if something was still there between us. I wrote him back, asking why he was e-mailing me when he knew that I wanted to get married and he didn’t. I wasn’t going to waste my time on someone who didn’t want the same things I did. He informed me that he was in Las Vegas for some more army training but

would be back in a few days. He wanted to catch up and see how I was doing. I agreed to meet him, thinking to myself that I would go and let him see what he was missing and then I would never talk to him again. Well, that was the plan. I met him for lunch at O’Charley’s around twelve o’clock. When I walked through the door, he was waiting patiently. Damn, he looked good. I gave him a hug and smiled to try to hide my nervousness. I started to get those old feelings back. I could feel the butterflies starting to flutter once again. Do not lose it, I said to myself. We had a nice lunch, and as I was getting ready to go home, he asked, “When can I see you again?” I said, “I don’t know.” I was very hesitant and guarded. I didn’t want to give him another chance to break my heart again. He suggested that we go to the movies later, but I declined. I didn’t know what to do. My heart was telling me one thing, and my mind another. I went home and called my sister, Lisa, and asked her for some advice on the situation. She told me, “Go to the movies and enjoy yourself.” She knew our history, and here she was, telling me to just go with it. I think she knew that was exactly what I wanted to hear. I ended up calling him that night and said that I would go to the movies with him. He drove all the way back to Hopkinsville from Clarksville, which, from his house, was easily a forty-five-minute drive. Elvis picked me up for our “date.” I didn’t make things easy for him. I joked with him, saying that I wanted to see Just Friends to set the tone of the date. I was not going to kiss him or let anything else happen. I told him that we should just be friends. We ended up seeing Walk the Line with Reese Witherspoon and Joaquin Phoenix. What a great love story. Johnny and June had many obstacles in their way, but their love endured and blossomed. Could this be a foreshadowing for us? We both enjoyed the movie and each other’s company. It was time to call it a night and he drove me home. No kisses, just a hug and an understanding that he could call me and hang out again. Well, from then on, he called me every day, and we went on numerous dates as

friends for a couple of months. I wasn’t about to jump into anything too soon. He really put forth the effort and was very patient with me. He wanted to be more than friends, but I had to make sure that he wanted the same things that I did. On one of our dates, we ended up back in Nashville and ate dinner at my favorite restaurant Sala Thai. Yes, the same restaurant that we had gone to on our very first date two years ago. It was there that we had a serious conversation about marriage. He informed me that he indeed wanted to get married someday. I asked him how long did he think was long enough to date before getting married to someone, and he said, “Two years.” I agreed. On the way out to his truck, he kissed me in the parking lot; I think he was trying to recreate our very first date. His kiss gave me chills once again; the spark was definitely there. He is such a romantic. Hopefully, this time, our love story would have a happier ending. Maybe the third time around is a charm.

CHAPTER TWO A New Adventure

Elvis and I dated for the next two years. During that time, it was jam-packed with fun and adventure. We took several trips up to Chicago to visit his family. I thinking to myself, I can’t believe I am here meeting and getting to know Elvis’s family. I instantly felt very welcomed and at ease with his amazing family. Elvis is the youngest of ten. Not only did he have a very large family but they were all very tall, which was kind of intimidating. I had to get used to calling him Jim because everyone around me was calling him that. Things were definitely on the right track. I met Chloe for the first time and immediately fell in love with her. She was only six years old and adorable. I the first thing she said to me: “My mom has a boyfriend, and my dad has a girlfriend, oh boy!” She was too cute. A few more months went by, and we took a trip to Michigan to visit with my family. It was my niece’s and nephew’s high school graduation. It was his turn to get acquainted with my parents and my siblings. He and my dad quickly hit it off. Mom, however, was a bit more cautious. Ed, Lisa, and Steven liked him as well. So now, I had their affirmation that he was a good guy. Not that I needed it because I already knew, but it still helped to solidify my feelings for him. Both families approved, so that was definitely a good thing. We were moving toward the direction I wanted. We were able to take few minivacations, just the two of us. We managed to take a few weekend getaways to Nashville. He took me to Gatlinburg, Tennessee, where we stayed in a really nice log cabin with a huge hot tub on the back porch. We ventured down to Tunica, Mississippi, where I got to see Johnny Lang in concert and learn how to play blackjack. That was so much fun. One of our biggest trips was Cozumel, Mexico. We stayed at an all-inclusive resort. It was a full five days in paradise. It was astonishingly beautiful and calming. Neither one of us wanted to leave. We went snorkeling and played water volleyball in the pool with the other guests. There was a swim-up bar in

the pool where we would drink margaritas and Jamaica Me Crazy drinks. We explored the island and shopped for souvenirs. There was a fire show that was entertaining and excitingly dangerous. I could feel the heat from the flames, sitting in the second row. We had a variety of restaurants to choose from; all of them were absolutely delectable. I loved how adventurous he was, and the fact that he loved to travel was the icing on the cake. I knew that this was the man I wanted to spend the rest of my life with, but was the feeling mutual? Only time would tell. Things were definitely beginning to get serious. After almost two years of dating, Jim and I had been looking at houses for a few months now and couldn’t find anything that we both really loved. It was kind of weird looking for houses when we weren’t even engaged, but we were on the “marriage track” according to him. I had already been on the train for months and was just waiting patiently for him to get on board. We ended up finding a place to build a house out in the country that was quiet and cozy that we both really liked. However, the holidays were approaching fast, so there was no time to make a concrete decision. We drove up north to visit both families again. First, we swung by Chicago, picked up Chloe, and spent a day or two visiting his mom and siblings. Then we headed up to Minnesota for Christmas with my family. My mom knew that we had been looking for a place to build a house, and she was getting a little anxious for us to settle down. Mom thought he should propose during our visit so we could celebrate together. I told my mom to be patient and that if it was going to happen, it would probably be soon, but not at Christmas. Jim thought it was too cliché to propose then, and I was okay with that. Jim and I didn’t believe in living together and not being married. He had been raised a Catholic, and I’m a Baptist. We had to set an example for our children and didn’t want to compromise our morals. I had a strong feeling that a proposal was in my near future but didn’t want to jinx things. Christmas came and went, and we were back in southern Kentucky. We both had a full schedule the next few months, but Jim wanted to take a trip to Nashville before he was deployed again. He asked me to try to get a long weekend off. The

next holiday weekend was Martin Luther King Jr. It took some finagling, but my principal eventually agreed to let me off two days before the long weekend. I thought to myself, This may be when he is going to ask me to marry him. But I wasn’t positive. So I acted nonchalant. I was calm, cool, and collected. I had a meeting the morning we were supposed to leave at my son’s school, and I wasn’t going to reschedule. We were just going to Nashville, so I didn’t think it was a big deal. We had been there many times but never more than two days. So in the back of my mind, I was curious, but didn’t let on. Jim met me at my house around eleven that morning. I had packed the night before and was ready to go. We headed out for our weekend getaway in Nashville. I was just happy that I was getting a full weekend with him. I had him all to myself. The drive down to Nashville was full of stimulating conversation as usual. I told him how happy I was. I wanted him to know that I appreciated him and felt lucky to have him in my life. He was being extremely nice to me, encouraging me to pick the radio station that I wanted. I put it on a country station. Ha, ha! He isn’t a big fan of country music, but I am. He was very complacent and sweet. He told me that he had planned a few surprises for me and couldn’t wait to see my reaction. I was suspicious, but not confident that he was going to propose. We made it to downtown Nashville, and Jim handed me my first surprise of the day. It was a bunch of white papers. My heart dropped to the floorboard. I thought he was giving me a prenuptial agreement. My mind was running a hundred miles per second. A prenup! What? Would I agree to this? I quickly regained control of my mind and heart and began reading the papers. As I read, I soon realized that it was not a prenup but a deed to a lot in Pembroke, Kentucky. Unbeknownst to me, he had ed Gregg and Neil, the contractors, and bought the land for us to build our house. My eyes began to tear up, and my heart began to race. It was then that I knew that he was in it for the long haul. We were truly going to build a life together. I was very excited. The man who was afraid to commit just took a major leap. Jim informed me that was just one of my surprises, and there were more in store. We were getting a little hungry and decided to eat at one of our favorite restaurants—Sala Thai. The one we ate at on our very first date several years

ago. We drove around for what seemed like forever, probably because we were so hungry, but we couldn’t find the restaurant. Apparently, it had closed a while back and was nowhere in sight. Oh, man! We were really looking forward to those famous spring rolls. Jim pulled into the parking lot that used to be Sala Thai and said that this would have to do. We parked the truck, and he proceeded telling me how happy he has been these past two years and how much he loved me. I started to cry happy tears. We kissed and hugged as he pulled out a shiny round diamond ring from his pocket. Oh my god! He is really going to do it, I thought. I’ll never forget the look on his face as he asked me to be his wife. “It’s Your Love” by Tim McGraw and Faith Hill was softly playing on the radio. It was so romantic. Then for the next surprise, he told me that he had already talked to the minister, and we were getting married the next day. He wanted me to keep it a secret from everyone until after we were hitched. This proved to be very difficult for me because I was ready to burst and had to share with my family and friends this exciting news. After all, it had been two years in the making. Actually, longer if you count all the years before. I was so excited that I had to pee. We still hadn’t eaten lunch and were getting hungry. I quickly ran into Arby’s to go to the restroom. While in the stall, I thought about calling my mom and sister, but I didn’t. I kept looking at the ring, thinking, This is really happening. Jim told me that he had made reservations to get a couple’s massage, and we had to be on our way. I didn’t know exactly where the spa was that he was taking me, but he said it was in Nashville. We were back on the freeway, heading to the spa when he turned toward the airport. I looked at him and smiled mischievously. “Where are we going really?” I asked. He said, “We are getting married tomorrow in Las Vegas!” “What?” I said shocked. I couldn’t believe my ears. He had once joked around saying that when he did propose that he would whisk me off somewhere and that it would be a very short engagement. We wheeled our luggage into the airport, checked our bags, and went through

security. The entire time, I felt like I was dreaming. Is this really happening? It wouldn’t feel real until I told someone. By this time, we were starving. We still hadn’t had lunch. Due to all the excitement with the proposal and Sala Thai closing, we forgot to eat. So we grabbed a quick bite and waited for our plane to board. We both were grinning from ear to ear. Anxiously anticipating when we would become husband and wife. The entire flight, we couldn’t keep our eyes and hands off each other. We kept kissing, holding hands, and really taking in the moment. I couldn’t stop looking at the ring on my finger. That diamond sparkled brighter than the sun— well, at least in my eyes. Soon, I would be Mrs. James Costello. I couldn’t wait. It was really late by the time we got to Las Vegas. We checked into the Mandalay Bay Hotel. Everything was opulent and beautiful. I felt like a queen. I could get used to this, I thought. We quickly put our bags in the room and headed downstairs to peruse the hotel. It was way past dinnertime, and we were ravenous with hunger. We stopped at the first restaurant we saw called Stripsteak. They had the most amazing steaks I had ever tasted in my life. I think they were Kobe beef. They were very expensive, but worth every penny if you ask me, but I wasn’t the one footing the bill. Ha! I really don’t eat that much steak, but I finished every ounce of it. The wine was to die for. The entire time, we were talking and laughing. Jim started talking about moving in when we got back. I was like, “Wait, hold on a minute. Let me get used to the idea of marrying you before we talk about you moving in.” This was all happening so fast. Yes, it’s what I had been dreaming of, but it was beginning to feel overwhelming. He had planned all this out a month ago and had weeks to get used to the idea. I, on the other hand, had only hours. Let me enjoy the engagement part however short it may be. After dinner, we took a cab to Clark County Clerk Office to get our marriage license. It was getting really late, and there weren’t too many people ahead of us. We were in and out in no time. We went back to the hotel and got some much needed rest. It was such an eventful and emotional day. We had a big day ahead of us. I felt like a huge weight had been lifted off my back. I wasn’t going to be a single mother anymore. I finally had a partner to help carry the burden and to share the joys that life has to offer. That night, I slept like a baby for the first time in years.

We got up fairly early the next morning and headed for the buffet for breakfast. Wow! What an amazing selection of food to choose from. They had everything you could have possibly imagined. Breakfast was scrumptious and filling. We were so excited, anticipating what the day held for us. Jim asked me if I wanted to have a casual wedding or something more formal. I didn’t pack a wedding dress or anything that might have ed for one. I certainly didn’t want pictures of us in our everyday attire. So we went to a wedding dress and tuxedo rental shop. I had no idea that something like that even existed, but I was very happy that I didn’t have to wear jeans to my wedding. The rental shop even picked us up from the hotel in a limousine. We searched and searched for a wedding dress through hundreds of gowns that seemed like an endless ocean of white. It was strange trying on those dresses while my fiancé watched. My stomach was in knots. Jim had planned a couple’s massage at the hotel spa that afternoon before the wedding, and we were pressed for time, so we had to make a quick selection. I must have tried on at least five or six dresses when I came to one that fit perfectly. The dress was white satin. It was strapless and fitted. It had white lace that ran across the bust along with a ribbon underneath the bra line—very elegant and grown up. It was gorgeous and made me feel like a bride. I then helped Jim pick out his tuxedo. It was a black classic tux, and he looked so handsome. He would soon be my husband. At that moment, I felt like the luckiest girl in the world. We headed back to the hotel just in time for our couple’s massage. We laid down next to one another in the same room, on separate tables of course, while the masseuses did their best to rub all the tension and stress away. I tried to relax, but my mind kept wandering to the wedding. I was getting nervous, anticipating what was going to happen next. It was time for us to head to the Las Vegas Wedding Chapel of Love. Jim and I walked through the casino in our formal wear to meet the limo that the chapel had sent. On the ride to the chapel, I couldn’t help thinking, Do I really want to do this? I take marriage very seriously and didn’t want to make a mistake for the second time. I had to remind myself that this is what I wanted. This is the man I fell in love with, but everything was happening faster than I imagined.

We arrived to the chapel a short ten minutes later and were met by the minister. He told us we could either get married by him with a traditional wedding then some music by the Elvis impersonator afterward, or “Elvis” could conduct the entire ceremony. Before I had a chance to even think, Jim piped in, “We want Elvis!” I was still in shock and awe that we were actually going to go through with this. We signed the necessary documents and prepared to take our vows. A few minutes later, I was walking down the aisle with “Elvis,” holding a small bouquet of fresh lavender roses. The music started to play, and “Elvis” began to sing as he and I slowly sauntered toward my soon-to-be husband. Our eyes locked, and I instantly felt at ease. There, standing before me, was the man of my dreams. Jim told me that I looked scared walking down the aisle, but I think it was just nerves. I don’t like a lot of attention placed on me, and at that moment, I was the starring attraction. “Elvis” proceeded with the ceremony, singing and dancing, while Jim and I took our wedding vows, promising to love each other forever. It was very surreal and kind of funny. “Elvis” pronounced us husband and wife. I was now Mrs. James Costello. The wedding chapel assistant took several pictures and videos to help commemorate our special day. It was a very memorable and extraordinary day—one of the happiest days of both of our lives. We called all our family and friends to tell them the great news. Most of them were in shock, but they were all very happy for us. He was finally all mine from this day forward till death do us part. Later that night, we went to see the Beatles Love Cirque Du Soleil at the Mirage Hotel. We sat in row B, seat 1 and 2. We were really close to the stage and had an exciting experience, viewing the show up so close. The acrobats literally flew over us. Plus listening to the music took us back to our younger years and how much we really loved the Beatles. What a wonderful ending to an amazing day!





CHAPTER THREE What Is That?

I always thought that I might die young. My life certainly didn’t go the way I expected, but then again, whose actually does? Many people have been touched in some way by cancer, and if they haven’t yet, they will in their lifetime. It was sometime in early October 2008. It was a beautiful, sunny day—blue skies and not a cloud in sight. I was at Curves doing my usual workout routine. I had ed about a year ago to keep healthy and to lose some weight. Curves was the one thing that I did for myself. As I was working out, I noticed that October was Breast Cancer Awareness Month. Curves was promoting a special pink plastic tool called LIV aid to help make lumps easier to feel on the breast. Olivia Newton John was the celebrity behind it. I knew that Olivia had been diagnosed with breast cancer years ago and, today, was cancer free. As I worked out, I thought about breast cancer and what it means to women today. I wasn’t worried about getting breast cancer. I thought, It can’t happen to me . . . I was too young, or was I? Later that night, while taking my bath, I decided to do a breast exam even though I had just had my yearly checkup in July. I laid down flat in the tub and raised my right arm up and began to feel around—nothing felt out of the ordinary. Next, I lifted my left arm above my head and began to feel all around. As I felt underneath my breast near the top rib, I felt something . . . something hard and big. It was round, and it kind of moved when I pushed on it. What is that? I thought. At that point, I wasn’t scared. I just knew that it wasn’t supposed to be there. I finished my bath and tucked that new bit of information into the back of my mind and jumped into the clean, cool sheets and fell asleep. The next morning, the first thing that I did was call to set up an appointment to see a doctor. Of course, they wanted to see me that day; I believe it was a Friday, but I didn’t have enough time to get the day off. So I scheduled it for the Monday. I told my mother, my sister, my best friend, and a few close coworkers about my

concern. They were all very ive and eager to know more as soon as I did. My sister had found a lump when she was twenty-eight years old and had it removed. The lump was determined to be benign but was considered the kind that could eventually turn into cancer. My mother and my best friend were very adamant about it not being anything. I am not sure if they believed it themselves or were just saying it over and over to try to convince me and them that, in fact, I would be fine. I hesitated to tell my husband, who was deployed in Iraq at the time. I didn’t want to worry him. He had just lost his oldest sister about a year ago to breast cancer. The whole weekend, I went online, researching my symptoms. I never would allow myself to believe that it was cancer, so I stayed away from those sites. I just researched about cysts and other noncancerous lumps, such as fibroadenomas. The more I read about fibroadenomas, the more I convinced myself that that is what I had. Fibroadenomas are common benign growths. They are solid, firm, and usually painless. That is exactly what my lump felt like. They usually occur in women over thirty-five. I was certain that is what I had. Monday came, and I saw a nurse practitioner named Melissa. She felt the lump and gave me some positive . The lump felt round, mobile, and it was a bit uncomfortable. So she thought that it was nothing to worry about. So I wasn’t too worried. I try not to worry about things unless there is something to worry about, but to be on the safe side, we scheduled a mammogram and a sonogram. I had to wait two more weeks for that appointment. I finally broke down and told my husband via e-mail. We were practically newlyweds—just married January 18. This was his first marriage after waiting almost forty years. Of course he was worried. He had planned on spending the rest of his life with me. I assured him that I was going to be fine and that it would more than likely turn out to be nothing life threatening. The worry was in the back of my mind, but I carried on with my regular duties without missing a beat. I was very optimistic and deep down knew that the chances that I had breast cancer were very slim. After all, no one in my family had ever been diagnosed with breast cancer. I had breast-fed my son and had him at the early age of twenty-two. I had gone yearly for my checkups since I was eighteen years old. I wasn’t overweight. I was a thirty-seven-year-old healthy woman. I finally was able to talk to my husband on the phone about the lump that I found and what the nurse practitioner had said. It was all good things and

that it was probably nothing. I arrived early for my appointment at Blanchfield Army Medical Hospital. I went directly to the breast center. It was kind of small and quaint. There were only four chairs. The whole room was decorated pink. They had a lot of what seemed to me like door prizes in baskets. I thinking, I don’t want to win any of those. There were a bunch of posters and magnets with the slogan “Early Detection Think Pink.” I was always a big fan of the color pink, but this time, I didn’t want to have what the color represented. It wasn’t long before they called me back for my mammogram. I had had a mammogram in May of 2007 on both breasts because I had felt some pain. My results came back negative, and nothing else was said about it. That first mammogram didn’t hurt that much. However, this mammogram was really painful, especially the left breast because of the tumor. It was directly below the nipple at six o’clock. The lump was pushing on my top rib, and it was very uncomfortable. The mammogram didn’t even pick up the mass. This mammogram was ruled as inconclusive because of the location of the lump. We anticipated this, so we also did a sonogram. The tumor was palpable, which meant “easy to feel.” This wasn’t painful at all . . . just a little cold. I watched the sonographer as she rolled the probe around the tumor, taking pictures here and there. I could see the dark mass, and it looked huge to me. Still, I wasn’t afraid. I thought about asking her what she thought, but then decided it was best not to talk because she was taking pictures of my breast. It took a very long time. When she was done, I got dressed and went back to the waiting room. I waited patiently. I made small talk with the other two women in the waiting room. I tried to read some magazines, but they only had slim pickings to choose from. After a while, one of the nurses said to me, “The doctor will see you now.” Just then, my heart began to race and my hands started to sweat. I walked into the small office where Dr. Bixby was sitting, observing my sonogram on what looked like an x-ray light screen. I shook his hand and sat down, nervous, but anxious to know the results. He showed me the mass on the x-ray and was talking about the shape, size, and color. Then he said that the mass had a spiculated top. This spiculated top was “concerning” to him. When I heard him say that he was concerned, my heart dropped to the floor. I wasn’t worried until he said that. He told me that we needed to do a biopsy to find out if the mass was benign or malignant.

During my research, I had read that this might be a possibility. I was prepared to do whatever I had to in order to find out what it was. No matter what it was, I knew that I wanted it removed. We scheduled the biopsy for next week. My husband would be home by then and be able to come with me, so I was comforted by that fact alone. I drove home in disbelief. Now, I was worried!

CHAPTER FOUR Biopsy

It was now the end of October. My husband got home on Thursday, and my biopsy was scheduled for that coming Tuesday. We spent Saturday night in Nashville to celebrate his return and to try to get away from it all. We discussed the impending biopsy, but tried not to talk about it too much. Instead, we focused on having fun and cherishing the time that we had alone together. I can’t exactly what we did, but I do being blissfully happy. Time flies when you’re having fun, and Tuesday was here before we knew it. Jim and I were anxious going in to the appointment. We weren’t sure if the doctors would let him go in with me. He really wanted to be present during the biopsy, and so did I. Dr. Bixby met me in the operating room while the nurse made preparations for the procedure. There were a lot of probes, needles, and tools. The doctor explained the entire process to my husband and me. It took about twenty minutes. My husband had a lot of questions. By this time, I was just ready to get it over with. The doctor said that my husband could stay in the room during the operation. I would be awake during the whole procedure, and I wanted to be. I have always been fascinated with biology. He would use an ultrasound to guide him during the core biopsy of the tumor. The cool thing was that my husband and I could actually watch the entire thing on the ultrasound. I was given a local anesthetic so I wouldn’t feel any pain during the procedure. I laid on top of the hard, cold table with my left breast visible to everyone in the room. There were a total of five people, including myself, in the room. You would think that by now exposing my breast wouldn’t feel uncomfortable, but it did. I felt Dr. Bixby push the extraction probe into my chest. I felt a lot of pressure and warm blood drip down the side of my breast. The needle went in at an angle.

It was really long and thick in diameter. I started to feel some pain, so he gave me a little more anesthesia. I watched the ultrasound screen in awe. Jim was farther back in the room and couldn’t see as well as I could. Dr. Bixby guided the needle toward the tumor, and once inside, the suction began. He suctioned out about three core samples and gave it to the nurse. I wanted to see what was inside of me. I asked him if I could see the pieces of the tumor, and he said yes. I wanted to see what the tumor was composed of. I looked inside the containers and saw three small, cylinder-shaped, pinkishorange pieces of tumor. It reminded me of small worms. Now, some people would find that gross, but not me. I thought it was amazing. It is fascinating how far technology has come. The doctor told me that they would send the biopsies to the pathologist located there at Blanchfield Army Medical Hospital. He said it would take about five to seven days, depending on if the biopsies went to Vanderbilt pathologists in Nashville, Tennessee, for a second opinion. The nurse informed me that about 5 percent of all biopsies go to Vanderbilt on a random basis. That was it . . . for now. I had to wait again to finally find out what the tumor was. I had done what I needed to do. I returned to work the following day as if nothing had happened. I still didn’t tell many people. I didn’t want anyone to worry for nothing, and I didn’t want any unnecessary attention focused on me. Plus we didn’t really know exactly what it was. So I had nothing to tell. I waited the five days patiently . . . then seven . . . then ten. What was going on? I called the hospital, and finally, someone told me that my biopsy had gone to Vanderbilt for a second opinion. My first thought was Is that a good thing or a bad thing? I was glad that they were seeking a second opinion, but afraid that it could mean something worse. It would take two weeks total to get the results back. Those two weeks were the longest two weeks of my life.

CHAPTER FIVE Diagnosis

I was at work when I finally got the call that the results were in. Finally! Why did it take so long? I was relieved to know that shortly, I would know what this thing inside me was. I was scheduled to come in Friday, November 14 at 11:00 AM. I took that Friday off. We had just moved into our new home the previous weekend, and the old house still needed cleaning. There were still a few items that needed to be packed up. The plan was to drive to the doctor’s in separate cars. When we found out that it was nothing, I was to go back to the old house to clean, and my husband was to go into work. My husband followed me in his truck as we drove to the hospital. It was a bright, sunshiny day, just a little cool. The entire time I was driving there, I was in a good mood. I was singing happily to the radio. It had been six weeks since I first found the lump. The not knowing was soon to be remedied with knowledge. All that waiting was soon to be over, and I couldn’t wait. We arrived about fifteen minutes before eleven o’clock. As we walked into the breast center, I saw my doctor walk by. We didn’t have to wait too long. We were escorted to Dr. Bixby’s office. Due to the excitement or my nerves, I had to use the restroom. When I returned, my husband and the doctor were caught in idle chitchat. We all knew that my fate was held in what the doctor would say to me in just a few seconds. As we entered another office, it was really dark. There was a small lamp that lit the room. There were no chairs to sit in. I didn’t think too much about it at the time, but as I look back on it, the atmosphere in that office was very gloomy and uninviting, almost ominous. My husband and I stood there, awaiting the news. “It’s cancer,” my doctor blurted out. Those words shook me to my core. My heart felt like it fell out of my chest. I stumbled back a step into my husband’s arms. I said, “Oh my god.” This is not what we were expecting. Tears started to fill my eyes. A bunch of questions filled my mind. How far along was it? How

long did I have? Will I be alive long enough to see my son graduate high school? I finally got out the following words: “What do I do next? What is the next step?” I was told that I had to go to the blue clinic, which is another part of Blanchfield Army Hospital, but a drive up the road. My husband and I were still in disbelief at the doctor’s words. As we made it out into the hallway of the main hospital, we stopped and hugged. I wiped the tears away, and we continued on out of the hospital. We discussed briefly what to do next, about him going to work and me cleaning the house. We held each other one more time in the parking lot before getting into the truck and heading to our next destination—the blue clinic. On the way there, I called my sister, Lisa, and told her the news. It was 11:02 AM; she was expecting my call. She said, “Wow! That was fast!” I told her that it was cancer, and she began to cry. “Don’t cry, or you will make me,” I said, choking back the tears. Lisa said, “When do you want me there?” I didn’t know much at that time, so it was a brief phone call. I told her as soon as I knew more, I would let her know. We arrived at the blue clinic, and who do I see? Melissa, the nurse practitioner who saw me about a month ago in the white clinic. Apparently, they had moved her there. She was very sympathetic. In fact, everyone was giving me all this attention, and of course, because of the circumstances, I didn’t like it one bit. I was given the choice to either be seen there at Blanchfield or go to Vanderbilt for my surgery and treatment. I chose Vanderbilt because I knew that VanderbiltIngram Cancer Center was one of the best in the nation, and lucky for me, we lived only an hour away. It was Friday, and I couldn’t get an appointment until Wednesday at Vanderbilt. Yet another weekend to get through except this time, I knew that it was cancer, but I didn’t know much more than that. Of course, now all our plans changed. He wasn’t going to work, and I wasn’t going to clean the old house. My husband made a few phone calls, letting his work know the news and that he was not going to be coming in. We headed back home in separate cars to my son who just so happened to be home, sick for the day. On the way home, I was still in shock. Tears streamed down my face. How could this be happening? I’m way too young for this. What did I do wrong? How was my son going to take the news? I told myself I had to get it together before I got home.

I called Gunnar into the living room and had him sit on the couch. I sat down next to him and said, “I just had an appointment with the doctor, and they told me I had breast cancer.” He didn’t say anything. “I’m going to be all right, we think we caught it early, but we won’t know for sure until they take the tumor out,” I assured him. I don’t think he really understood the seriousness of the situation, but he seemed to take it well. Next, I had to tell the rest of my family. I called my mom to let her know the results. “Hi, Mom we found out the results of the biopsy . . . it’s cancer,” I said as calmly and clearly as I could. “Oh no, not my baby!” she managed to get out. My mother, father, and brother and his family all live up in Minnesota—a twelve-hour drive. My mother offered to come down, but I declined because I didn’t want to take her away from my nieces who needed her more right now. I wanted to save her visit for when I really needed some help. I think that hurt her feelings, but I assured her that I would want and need her to come down soon. I can only imagine how horrifying it feels to hear that your child is sick. I know she must have felt helpless and scared. That is why I was glad it was me who was diagnosed with cancer and not my child . . . not my baby. I told her that Lisa was going to come down for my surgery. I needed my big sister at that moment but knew that I would need my mother down the road. For now, Lisa would help me get through the surgery.

CHAPTER SIX Sisterly Love

I have known my sister my whole life. I cannot a time when she wasn’t around, but that is probably due to the fact that she is older than me. Ha ha! We lived in a very tiny green three-bedroom house on McGuire. We were a family of six, so that made for very tight living quarters. The neighborhood wasn’t very affluent, but it was safe, and we had plenty of kids to play with. We shared a room from the time I was born up to when I became a preteen. Our room in McGuire was pink with a thick pink shag rug—a common staple of the ’70s. We had twin bunk beds that could be converted into single twin beds. I had the bottom bunk because I was the smallest, but I actually preferred it. Lisa used to tell me bedtime stories every night before we went to sleep. She would mainly retell fairy tales, but every once in a while, she would make up her own or add a different twist to an old favorite. I her telling me about Rumpelstiltskin and the girl who had to weave gold. I always enjoyed that story. We would lie awake just talking and laughing, often getting into trouble with Mom and Dad. She would occasionally fall asleep before I would, and I would have to listen to her snore. It didn’t bother me one bit because I knew she was near and was comforted that I wasn’t alone in the dark. Her companionship was something that I held very dear and came to depend on. Even though we were four years apart, my mother would dress us in similar clothing. If I had on a pink dress with polka dots, she had on a purple dress with polka dots. Once in a while, we would have to wear the same color outfit, especially if we went on a trip somewhere. Our mom said it was because she wanted to be able to keep track of us. I didn’t mind, but it really irritated Lisa that we had to dress alike. There are many pictures to prove this, to my sister’s embarrassment. When we were younger, Lisa and I would play with our baby dolls and Barbies

almost every day. We did get along very well, the way I it. We were the best of friends—at least I thought so—until she got older and wanted nothing to do with me. She wanted to play with her friends, so I had no choice but to find another companion—my little brother, Steven. Lisa and I used to fight like siblings do, but we always loved each other and knew that no matter what, we would be there for one another. As time went on and we moved to a newer, bigger house on Fairview, Lisa became a role model and a caretaker for me and my little brother. My mom went back to work, and it was just us three left to fend for ourselves. We didn’t have much money, but we didn’t know it. So most of our entertainment came from one another. We played outside as much as we could. We would play board games, cards, and school downstairs when it was too hot or too cold outside. We would practice and put on plays for our parents. We were like the three musketeers. We were always together and never once did I hear her complain of having to look after her two younger siblings. Some of my fondest childhood memories are times spent with my sister. Lisa would always come up with the coolest things to do. I having a blast when it was just us three. We each would invite our closest friends to in on the fun as well, so instead of three of us, there were six. Beth, Dawn, and Derek were our plus three. We were all good kids and pretty much kept out of trouble. There were many days of making homemade pizza and fried bologna sandwiches. One thing that stands out in my mind is tape-recording ourselves. We would sing and tell stories and mimic current commercials that we thought were funny. We sang wholeheartedly, “Coke . . . is . . . it . . . Coke is it . . . the biggest the taste you’ve ever found . . . Coke is it . . . the one that never lets you down . . . Coke . . . is . . . it . . . Coke is it!” Ha! Ha! We had so much fun. Not only did she teach me how to make a fried bologna and cheese sandwich, she also taught me how to stand up for myself. She didn’t take anyone else’s bologna; that was for sure. She was rough around the edges and tough, but had a great heart, especially for the people who were closest to her. She would stand up to anyone who mistreated her or her family. No one was going to mess with her family . . . except her. Ha! Once I was in fourth grade at Holland Elementary School and was confronted by

the school bully. Nina was in the fifth grade, and everyone was terrified of her, including me. We were outside for recess one cool day, and my friend had wanted her jump rope and was afraid to ask Nina to give it back. So taking my sister’s example, I stuck up for my friend Renee and asked for the jump rope, to Nina’s dismay. She initially gave it back, but before I knew it, there were a bunch of kids surrounding us in a circle with me and Nina in the middle—the center of everyone’s attention. She was angry and yelling at me. She was trying to get me to fight her, but I had never been in a physical fight other than with my little brother, and I didn’t know what to do. I just stood there, frozen and praying that the bell would ring so we could all just go back inside. My prayers were answered, and the whole incident was over—at least for now. Later that day, I told my big sis what had happened. She was livid. My sister was in middle school, and they got out of school earlier than the elementary, so the next day, she paid Holland Elementary and Nina a visit. Needless-to-say, I never had any more trouble with Nina and neither did my friends. This was the first time I my sister sticking up for me, but it certainly wasn’t the last. Lisa has always been my protector, my confidant, and my best friend even till this day. I didn’t realize this when I was younger, but I think about it now and everything that we went through, and I’m grateful that I had her with me through the good times and bad. Having and going through cancer took us both by surprise, but because of it, Lisa and I are closer and stronger than we ever were. So it was no wonder that she felt like she had to protect and defend me. She has always been one of my biggest fans and will continue to me in all my endeavors. I will forever be thankful for my parents for giving me the best big sister anyone could ever ask for. There truly is no other love like sisterly love.

CHAPTER SEVEN Back to Work

Over the weekend, I had a lot of time to absorb the fact that I had breast cancer. We had plenty of work to do with the old house. We had to pack what was left and clean it so it would be ready for prospective buyers. My mind was preoccupied with the houses, which distracted me from thinking too much about what was happening to me. In between cleaning and packing, I did some research online about breast cancer. Normal cells reproduce, and when they bump up to one another, they stop dividing, but cancer cells continue to divide unless they are killed. I found out that one out of eight women will be diagnosed with breast cancer some time in their lives. That shocked me. I didn’t realize how common breast cancer was. I also learned that only 11 percent of tumors are found where mine was. Most women who get cancer do not have a history in their family either. Most women are diagnosed in their fifties or sixties, and there aren’t many cases or studies on breast cancer in women who are under forty. However, it was only a few months ago that the world found out that Christina Applegate was diagnosed with breast cancer at the age of thirty-six. It does happen to women under forty, but rarely. I also knew that if the cancer was found early that there is a 99 percent five-year or more survival rate. I was hoping that the tumor hadn’t been there for very long and that we caught it early. I went back to work on Monday and performed my duties as a teacher. My students are quite young, so I didn’t say anything to them yet. I didn’t know that much anyhow. I did send an e-mail to all my coworkers explaining to them why I had missed so many days. A lot of people were shocked, just like I was when they heard the news. Some people didn’t know what to do or say. So I just told them to keep positive thoughts and to make sure that all the women in their lives did monthly self-breast examinations. Everyone at work was really ive and friendly. A few women came up to me and said that I was their wake-up call. It is kind of weird when people come

up to me to say how sorry they were to hear about my diagnosis. I would find myself telling those people who felt sorry for me to not feel sorry. I was determined to have a positive outlook on my diagnosis and, hopefully, motivate others to check themselves regularly. Some people automatically think that if you get cancer that it is a guaranteed death sentence; it’s not! I knew deep down inside that I caught it early. I knew that I was going to be all right. I have a new husband, a new house, a new life; I wasn’t going to let cancer beat me. All my dreams were coming true, and I was not ready to die. I had a lot of living to do. I confided in my coworkers, my teammates, and my friends. I was looking at the best case scenarios. If I needed to get a mastectomy, then so be it. My life is way more valuable than a breast. If I was going to lose a breast, then I would definitely have reconstructive surgery. I would get implants and, for the first time in my life, be stacked. Ha! Ha!

CHAPTER EIGHT Vandy

The day finally came when I had my appointment at Vanderbilt. My husband and I drove to Nashville, Tennessee to meet the doctors who would be handling my case. It was a sunny, but cold day in November. I feeling pretty good that day despite my recent diagnosis. I certainly didn’t feel sick. I was full of life and tough. I had a strong feeling that we caught it early. We had to have caught it early because I needed to be around to finish raising my son. When we sat down in the waiting room, I noticed there weren’t many women this early in the morning. The women who were there were obviously much older than me, which made me feel a little uncomfortable and question why was I here. We didn’t have to wait very long before my name was called. We were led to a small room and waited for about five minutes. A nurse came in and explained everything that was going to happen. She was a stage 2 breast cancer survivor. That information made me feel better because, at this point, we didn’t know exactly what stage my cancer was. I was in awe when she told us her story. If she could fight this disease and win, then so could I. After talking to the nurse, the surgeon came in along with the radiation doctor. The surgeon’s name was Dr. Robert Beauchamp. He examined the lump, asked a few questions, and then told me my options. I could have a partial mastectomy, or a lumpectomy as what they call it today, and then radiation. Or I could choose to have a full mastectomy and no radiation therapy. Dr. B. explained to me that having a full mastectomy wouldn’t decrease the odds of the cancer returning when compared to just having a lumpectomy. So I decided to have a lumpectomy and go with the less invasive and quicker recovery operation, then I would have radiation therapy after chemo. The surgeon was head of the department at Vanderbilt and was very experienced. I felt completely confident in his ability to take care of this medical problem. He was very welcoming, and I felt comfortable talking to him. He said to me, “Wow, you seem pretty calm after getting this diagnosis!” I said, “Yeah, I’ve had a couple of days to get used to it, and I’m ready to get rid of this.”

Next, the oncologist came in to discuss the possibility of chemotherapy and what my options may be. Doctors and nurses kept coming in and out, giving us a lot of information. My husband, the wonderful man he is, was writing down every important detail. The surgeon recommended that I get an ultrasound of my armpit to see if the cancer may have spread to my lymph nodes. So I was off to the sonogram room. As I was lying there, yet again, in the dark with the sonographer, I felt very confident that the cancer hadn’t spread, and I caught it early. Turns out that the sonogram came back good; it didn’t appear to have spread to the lymph nodes, but we wouldn’t know for certain until after the surgery. We were never alone for more than a few minutes, which made this scary experience not so scary. I felt very well taken care of. The team of doctors and nurses made me feel like I was the only patient there. I felt like a VIP. I was so ready to get this foreign object out of me. Let’s just get it done as soon as possible. It was almost Thanksgiving, and I thought that I might have to miss a visit with my husband’s family to have the surgery. The doctor explained to me how he was going to remove my tumor. He told me he was going to cut underneath the breast and vertically below the nipple down. After surgery, I would have a scar that would kind of look like a smile with a nose. It would resemble what a breast lift scar would look like after a normal breast augmentation. I was definitely okay with that. I just wanted this thing out! We were told we had to go to the main hospital for more tests, which was just a short walk across the street. They took a lot of blood and did an x-ray of my chest—everything came back normal. I also had to get an MRI to make sure that there weren’t any other “hot spots” where the cancer may have spread. I had to lie on my stomach and chest during the entire process of the MRI. I was inserted into this huge white tunnel. I had to be completely still for the whole time. There were two square cutouts where each of my breasts lined up. It hurt my left breast because of where the tumor was. I felt the tumor pressing against my top rib. The noise that the machine made was very loud and strange. I swore I thought I could make words out of the static that this diagnostic test was making. It was fast-paced at some times, and other times, it was a slow, steady humming sound. In order to be able to remain calm and still, I imagined that I was at the beach, walking on the shore and letting the waves wash across my feet. The MRI took

about an hour because I had agreed to do an extra fifteen minutes to help with the clinical trials—Vanderbilt is a teaching and research hospital. It was because of the thousands of women before me who had made such significant progress in the fight against breast cancer that I felt obligated to do my part. The results were good—there were no other suspected cancer cells or tumors. I didn’t feel sick. I actually felt really good physically. As I took my nightly bath, I thinking that my life was about to change. Was I prepared for this? No, not really, but I had no choice in the matter. Fate had other things in mind. The surgery was scheduled for December 15, 2008. That was about three weeks away. My husband and I went on our trip to Chicago to spend time with family and waited patiently for the day of surgery.

CHAPTER NINE Pink Ribbon Network

After being diagnosed, a woman called me from the local Pink Ribbon Network and invited me to their monthly meeting. This great group of women meets the first Thursday of each month to discuss issues, questions, fears, as well as share triumphs and milestones. The Pink Ribbon Survivors Network was started to help educate and breast cancer patients before, during, and after active treatment. The first meeting I went to was held December 8 at Dots restaurant in Hopkinsville, Kentucky. It was their Christmas get-together. I was looking forward to sharing and getting to know these brave women who either have or are currently battling breast cancer. I was new to this and knew that there would be a wealth of knowledge and experience that I could benefit from. A woman named Ann met me in the parking lot, and we walked into Dots together. We headed to the back banquet room. As I entered the room, it was filled with laughter and fellowship. I felt welcomed and at ease. I was very noticeably the youngest member of their group, and I had the longest hair. I talked to a lot of women and listened to their stories and experiences. I was so happy that I had found the cancer at an early stage. All these women had been diagnosed with either stage 1 or 2, even stage 3 cancer, and they were still alive and thriving. It gave me hope, and I knew deep down that I was going to get through this. Listening to their stories, I felt good and bad. I felt good because all these women had faced breast cancer and won. Yet I felt guilty because I found mine early, and I didn’t think I would have to do the chemotherapy like most of the women there. They gave me a really pretty white blanket with a pink ribbon embroidered on it to take with me to surgery, just in case I got cold. I also was given a tiny pink pillow to put under my arm or breast after surgery to help aid in recovery.

Surgery was less than two weeks away. I wasn’t nervous at all, just ready to get it done and over with. I was ready, with the of my new friends, husband, and family, to conquer this affliction with poise and grace. I was not going to let a diagnosis of breast cancer get me down.

CHAPTER TEN Lumpectomy

The days etched closer for surgery. My sister, Lisa, drove down from Indiana to help me with my recovery. She got here the day before. It was December 14, 2008, her forty-first birthday. Some way to spend your birthday, I thought, but she told me that she wouldn’t have rather been anywhere else. She has always been there for me, and this time was no different. Jim, Lisa, and I decided to stay the night in Nashville at a hotel because I had to be at the hospital at six o’clock the following morning for surgery. We checked into our hotel and decided to catch a bite to eat. We ended up eating at PF Chang’s, one of our favorite restaurants near Vanderbilt. We had a great time that night and tried to celebrate my big sis’s birthday. Lisa had me laughing so hard that I thought I was going to pee in my pants. I hadn’t laughed like that in a long time. Tears of laughter pushed back any thoughts of the impending operation. We had an early day ahead of us, so we had to get some shut-eye. That night, I was a little nervous and filled with anticipation to get the surgery over with. I didn’t sleep that well, Gee, I wonder why? Ha! It was still dark out at five thirty in the middle of December when we left the hotel, and not to mention really cold. The icy wind took my breath away. We were expecting a really bad ice storm that evening. The doctors weren’t sure if I was going to have to stay the night, but if I had anything to do with the decision, I was going home. I did not want to stay one night in the hospital. Plus, I didn’t want my husband and sister to be uncomfortable. We parked in one of the parking garages, not knowing exactly where we were going. We had the floor and room number but didn’t know where it was. It was like a maze. I felt like we were mice searching for the cheese. We kind of got lost, and that early in morning, there weren’t many people to ask for directions. I was getting nervous that we would miss my appointment and have to postpone it. My husband, my sister, and I were practically running to my appointment. We made it there just in time. I signed in and waited along with several other people

there. I was really nervous, and because of my nerves, I was constipated. I had to go, but couldn’t and was getting really upset. My stomach was in knots. I tried to calm down and concentrate on one thing. Finally, I was able to do the deed. Thank goodness, relief! We waited about another fifteen minutes when someone called on us. They led all three of us into a room where I got dressed for surgery. Unfortunately, I was on my period. Oh joy! I didn’t know what to expect and what I was supposed to wear during the hours of surgery. They gave me these stretchy panties and a very thick pad, like the ones in the olden days that needed the belts to go with it. Anyway, I was in the restroom, changing and had to go pee. Just as I finished peeing, my pad fell into the toilet . . . yikes! I was mortified. I had to tell my sister, and she told the nurse. Well, I got a new one, and afterward, we had a good laugh. It definitely broke the seriousness of the situation. We waited for what seemed like forever. I was just so anxious to get in and get it over with. Finally, a nurse came in and explained again what they were going to do. An anesthesiologist came in to ister a drug that would put me under for the surgery. We waited about five minutes. My husband and my sister gave me a hug. I was like, “I don’t feel tired.” As they wheeled me out into the hallway, I waved good-bye to my loved ones. I felt wide awake. I seeing the nurses’ station and a bunch of Christmas decorations hanging from the ceiling . . . then . . . click! Out like a light. The next thing I know, I’m waking up in a round room with a bunch of other people. Man, I had to go pee so bad. Of course, I still had this big bulky pad on, and the nurse had to help me urinate, which was extremely embarrassing. She helped me pee in a bedpan right in front of everyone—how awkward, but I had to go so bad that I didn’t care who was in the room. I was definitely feeling better, but I was really groggy and out of it—effects of the anesthesia. I felt like I was going to get sick, but the moment ed, and I was okay. They moved me into a private room where my husband and my sister were waiting. I hearing the nurse say that I was good and just needed to wait here until the drugs wore off. My sister said, “She doesn’t look good.” I was freezing, but I couldn’t move to get warmer. I could hear everyone, but it was difficult to open my eyes and come out of the fuzziness. It was getting late, and I

knew that I didn’t want to stay the night there, so I had to force myself to move. I was finally able to get up and pee, yet again. The color began to come back in my skin. I was ready to get dressed and finally go home when I noticed I had this draining tube attached to my left breast to get rid of the excess blood and tissue. It had a bag that would fill up with nastiness every few hours. I had to wear it for three days, and then it could be taken out. Oh well, I was just glad that the surgery was over. The hard part was over. Now, all I had to do was focus on getting well. My sister said that the surgery took about two hours. Dr. Beauchamp said the surgery went really well, and I had clear margins from where the tumor was extracted. Clear margins meant that there was no cancer found around the perimeter of where the tumor was. If I didn’t have clear margins, then they would have to go back in and take more tissue. However, it was a success, and I was cleared to go home if I felt up to it. Hell yeah . . . let’s get out of here and try to beat the ice storm. We had just made it to our exit, and it began to sleet. We got home and prepared for one of the worst ice storms in years. The next morning, we awoke to a winter ice wonderland. It was really pretty. A lot of people were without electricity, but we weren’t. We were lucky to be able to enjoy the heat and other luxuries that electricity provides. Thank God! At home, I was able to see the site of the incision more closely. I was very pleased with the results. Dr. Beauchamp did an amazing job. You really couldn’t see the scar unless I lifted my left arm up. My breasts look symmetrical still. The scar under my armpit only hurt a little—either I have a high tolerance for pain or I was just lucky. I could only sleep on my right side or back because of the surgery. I couldn’t take a shower for three days, but I could take a bath; I just had to make sure my incision didn’t get wet. I did have to wear a sports bra 24/7 to maintain to ensure that I healed properly. Plus, because of where the scar was, I couldn’t wear anymore underwire push-up bras; now for a small-breasted woman, that was somewhat devastating, but I had to do what I had to do. The strange thing was that my libido was very high after surgery. I don’t know if it was the fact I was just so happy that the tumor was out or if it was that I was so well-rested because I wasn’t working. We made love almost every night that

first week. My husband certainly wasn’t complaining. I felt so alive and full of energy. It was like a celebration—a reaffirmation of life. I knew that I was going to be okay. I thinking the hard part is over. We went back to the doctors three days later to get the drainage tube removed. My next appointment was in three weeks to find out our next course of action. Until then, it was time to enjoy Christmas and my family. We stayed in Kentucky and welcomed a southern country Christmas with our children, Gunnar and Chloe. After Christmas break, it was back to the real world. I went back to work. Everyone was overjoyed to see me back so soon, especially my students. I was just happy to be back to a normal routine. Three weeks flew past, and it was time to go back to review the results of my surgery and to see what my next step would be. Dr. Beauchamp proceeded to tell me a more in-depth analysis of my prognosis. The BRCA1 test that I had earlier would determine if I had the breast cancer gene. Well, it came back negative. Yes! That was great news. The actual size of the tumor was 1.7 centimeters. It was 100 percent estrogen and progesterone positive, and HER2/neu negative. The proliferation rate was high, which meant that it was growing really fast. They ended up taking three sentinel nodes from my armpit, and all were cancerfree. From these results, I was diagnosed with stage 1 breast cancer. They told me that my risk of a recurrence over the next ten years was estimated at 32 percent. If I took the first generation chemotherapy and tamoxifen for five years, my risk of recurrence would be reduced by 62 percent, taking my risk from 32 percent to 15 percent. They had sent pieces of my tumor to a company in California that does investigations to determine the effectivity rate of chemotherapy. This test was called Oncotype DX, and it was a very expensive—thank God my insurance covered the entire cost. If I fell into the low-risk category, they wouldn’t recommend chemotherapy. If I fell into the high-risk category, I would have to have both chemo and hormone therapy. My Oncotype DX score fell at 18 percent, which was near the cutoff of intermediate risk. Dr. Beauchamp explained to me that because of the results of my lumpectomy and the fact that I was so young, he was recommending that I have chemotherapy. What! No! My heart just dropped to my feet. I thought for sure I wasn’t going to have to have chemo. Up until that point, I had made it through this thing fairly well. I really

didn’t want to get sick and lose my hair. After briefly discussing my options with my husband, we decided that it was best to go ahead with the chemotherapy to be on the “safe” side.

CHAPTER ELEVEN Vegas, Baby!

It was now January, and our first year anniversary was just around the corner. A year earlier, Jim had surprised me with a marriage proposal and wedding in Las Vegas. He had made all the arrangements, which everyone, including myself, thought was so romantic and thoughtful. So to celebrate, he thought it would be a good idea to fly to Vegas again. I was totally up for that. We had such a wonderful time the previous year, so I knew we would have another amazing time. We flew out of Nashville that Thursday before our anniversary. We planned on staying for three days. We ended up staying at the Paris Hotel. I had been to Paris, , years ago, and I just thought that the Paris Hotel would be fun and romantic. We checked in and decided to get a bite to eat. We had these simple sandwiches at a bistro inside the hotel. They satisfied our hunger. We decided to walk around a little while to get acquainted with our new setting. Anyone who has ever been to Vegas and these expensive, but grand hotels knows how much of a sensory overload these places are. There is always so much going on, so many people walking, talking, drinking, and gambling. You can hear the constant buzzing of the slot machines going ding, ding, ding! Ahhh, Vegas, baby! Nothing like it! We didn’t gamble too much that evening because we were tired from the flight. We had to rest for what the next day held for us. My husband had planned numerous surprises for me. I couldn’t wait. The next morning, we got up, refreshed and eager to start our new adventure for the day. My husband took me to this different resort and casino on Lake Las Vegas. It was a beautiful, sunny day with just a little cool breeze. We had to walk around a little while because we were early for whatever my husband had planned for us. Finally, the time came, and we walked up to a dock that had gondolas. Oh! I had

never been on a gondola and always wanted to. The lady, who was our guide, had lunch set out on a table for us to eat. We had our choice of a chicken salad or a club sandwich with plenty of fruit and pasta salad along with lemonade for our drink. It was delicious. We glided around the lake for a bit, iring all the big, expensive mansions that surrounded the lake. The sun glistened off the water. It was really peaceful, and there weren’t many people on the lake at all. It felt like it was just my husband and I in a different world. While floating on the lake, we saw that someone had thrown a bottle in the lake. I thought to myself, Why would anyone litter in this beautiful lake? What is wrong with people . . . how dare they! So our guide decided that we should head close to it and fish it out of the water. I agreed! Jim was able to reach it and then handed it to me. The bottle was clear, and there appeared to be a note inside of it. Jim told me to open it up, but I didn’t put two and two together. I told him, “No, I think that is someone else’s message in a bottle.” He began to smile, and then I knew that the bottle was meant for me. Oh, again! My husband was pulling out all the stops for this anniversary celebration. I opened the bottle, and inside it was a poem that he had written. What? My husband is a poet, and I certainly didn’t know it. What a romantic. I felt so special and loved at that moment and knew that I was the luckiest woman in the world.

A message in a bottle can appear at any moment But it can also be difficult to find

Storms will raise the seas Making it hard to see the bottle over the crashing crests Strong winds toss the bottle to lost waters

Calm weather allows unrestricted vision The sun will sparkle off the bottle

Allowing it to be seen easily at great distances It is a beautiful sight The message it carries is the same in all weather Hope, joy, happiness

Our love is my message to you It has brought me great joy through all seas And has been worth all the searching

Teresa, I love you Jim

We headed back to our hotel and decided to hit the blackjack tables. Blackjack is pretty much the only game that I know how to play. We like to play until we each get a blackjack; then we move to another table or different casino. We were a team. We like to play together because if one is losing, the other is winning. My husband likes to say, “Ebb and flow, baby . . . ebb and flow.” The next morning, Jim had another surprise in store. We ended up taking a shuttle from the hotel to Boulder City, Nevada. Our destination—Bootleg Canyon Flight Lines . . . OMG! Ever since I saw zip-lining on Amazing Race, I knew that I wanted to try it. I was so excited and a bit nervous. It is one of my dreams to be able to compete on The Amazing Race . . . who knows, maybe one day. They gave us some paperwork to fill out and then a short introduction of what we would be doing. They gave us our harness and helped us put them on. We drove in a white van up to the practice line. There were about ten of us on this

run. There was a couple celebrating their fiftieth wedding anniversary. They were seventy years old. I couldn’t believe it. I told my husband, “I hope to have that much energy and courage when I am their age.” The practice flight line was easy and quick . . . no big deal really. We all hopped back into the van to the top of the mountain. It was about 2,550 feet to the top of Red Mountain. There were a total of five flight lines including the practice one. As we were going up the mountain, I could look out of the van window and see how high we were getting. Even though I have a fear of heights, I was anticipating the rush I would get, flying down the mountain. We arrived at the top, and then we had to climb a little bit higher on foot, carrying our equipment. The equipment was kind of heavy, and I did just have surgery about four weeks ago. So my husband had to carry both mine and his— chivalry isn’t dead! There were three different ways to go down the mountain on the flight line. First, to go really fast, you had to be stretched out straight and lean back in the harness; this was called the Bullet. The second position was the Flying Squirrel —arms and legs out just like a flying squirrel—this one slowed you down a bit. But I liked it the best because I felt like I was flying. The last position was to prepare to land or stop. In order to stop, you had to lift your legs above your head in a V shape and pull the handle close to your chest. This was my least favorite because when we stopped, we stopped with a big jolt, hurting your back and neck. Ouch . . . I think I might need back surgery after this, but the pain was worth it. We hurled down one flight line after the other. At one time, my husband got stuck in the middle of the line. The guides had to inch their way out and retrieve him. He wasn’t even the least bit scared. I, on the other hand, would have been terrified being stuck out there, hanging hundreds of feet above the ground. Luckily, I made it to the landing pad every time. We had so much fun that day. Anybody who knows me would never in a million years think that I would have done something like that. So we took plenty of pictures to document the event. I think that battling cancer makes you a little bit more fearless and want to live each day to the fullest. I am a survivor and wanted to prove to everyone and to myself that I can do anything that I put my mind to. And I did! What an amazing adventure we had.

The next morning, we decided to hit the tram and visit other casinos. We ended up at the Luxor. This casino is really cool on the outside. It is made out of black glass in the shape of a pyramid with a spectacular light at the tip. We sat down at a ten-dollar table and began to gamble. A few other people came to our table to in the fun. These other players were oriental, and they looked really young. Clearly, they weren’t old enough to be there. We suspected that they had fake IDs. The dealer carded them, and we resumed playing. My husband made the comment, “Hey, why didn’t you card us?” I was trying to let him know quietly to shut up because I didn’t bring my ID. The dealer looked at Jim and said that he was okay; she looked at me and said, “I’ll need to see hers.” Crap! Really! We both laughed in amusement. They thought that he looked old enough, but not me. I was thirty-seven years old. Now, I know I look young for my age, but come on . . . I really don’t think I could have ed for under twenty-one. I explained to the dealer that I didn’t have my license, so they asked me to leave. Not one other casino asked for my ID the rest of our trip. We still get a laugh about the time I got kicked out of the Luxor. I’m such a badass! Ha ha.

CHAPTER TWELVE First Day of Chemotherapy

It was Friday, January 30, 2009. I really didn’t sleep well the night before, anticipating what was in store for me. Although I was a bit tired, all in all, I felt good and confident in my decision to go ahead with chemotherapy. I wanted to get it over with as soon as possible. The day started out fairly normal. My husband and I drove to Vanderbilt for my very first chemotherapy session. No delays on the road. We made good timing from our house to Nashville. My husband decided to use the valet parking for the first time, just in case I was too tired to walk after my first treatment, which I thought was really sweet of him even though we ended up walking farther than if we had just used the regular parking garage. It was the thought that counted though. When we walked into the clinic, there were people of many ages and races awaiting treatment. You could tell by looking at them who was just beginning their treatment, to who was in the middle, and who was near the end. Things moved very quickly. It wasn’t long before the beeper went off, and I was called into the lab. They took some blood and released me back into the waiting room. We waited about five more minutes, and then the beeper went off again. We were led to a private room to wait for Dr. Julie Means-Powell. While my husband and I waited, we perused through a wig magazine, discussing which wigs would look good on me. We had planned on going right after treatment to try on some wigs. When the doctor finally came in, she discussed the drugs that were going to be used for the therapy. Her nurse had printed out information about each drug that they were about to ister, and we discussed my impending treatment. I was going to have a combination of two drugs taxotere and cyclophosphamide. The treatments would be three weeks apart, lasting for two hours each. Even

though I really didn’t want to do chemotherapy, I was happy that it wouldn’t be too long. I only had to do four treatments, which is the minimum. We were led to the chemotherapy waiting area. Again, it didn’t take too long. I had a private room with a TV. I had to watch a video that showed what to expect during my treatment. I sat in the comfy big infusion chair and waited patiently for what was in store. The nurse had a little bit of trouble locating my vein, but finally found it. She started my IV drip. She istered an anti-nausea drug with regular fluids through the IV. Everything seemed to be going well. She had just begun the taxotere drug and left the room. I was lying back, fully relaxed in my chair, closing my eyes and thinking about going shopping for wigs later. It had only been about a minute. My husband was just about to go fill my prescriptions when suddenly, I felt painful twinges in my stomach. I immediately knew something wasn’t right. I told my husband, “Something is wrong.” He hesitated. I believe he was in shock. The nurse had just said that an allergic reaction was possible, but rare. I had to tell him twice to go get the nurse. By the time he returned with her, which wasn’t that long, I couldn’t breathe. My whole body was going into shock. My body began to feel very hot all over. My face and ears felt like they were on fire. I felt like an elephant was sitting on my chest. My lower back was killing me. I knew I was in trouble. I looked at my husband. I could tell he was scared. It was at that moment that I felt like I could possibly die. I could see that everyone was concerned. It didn’t take too long for my doctor to get there. I looking at her. Our eyes met, and tears began to fall as a cry out to her for help because, by this time, I couldn’t speak. The nurse and doctor worked really fast. They stopped the taxotere drug and gave me a push of Benadryl to counteract the allergic reaction. They put me on oxygen, and I slowly began to feel better. What the hell just happened? I thought. They stopped my treatment for the day, but I was like, “No!” I wanted to get this started so I could finish it. My doctor decided to take a different approach to my treatment, and I would continue next week with a different mix of chemotherapy drugs. After about an hour, they released me. My husband and I drove home, thankful that I was still alive. My husband said, “Thanks for not dying!” I laughed and said, “I’m not going anywhere anytime soon.”

CHAPTER THIRTEEN Chemo—Take Two

A week later, we were back at Vanderbilt to resume my treatment. Dr. Powell decided on a combination of Adriamycin and Cytoxan for my chemo cocktail as the professionals call it. I was to have treatment every two weeks for two hours. I still only had to complete four chemo infusions, thank God! I didn’t have to have a port, which is where they place a permanent catheter in the breast with the tumor. Instead, each time I went in for treatment, they would start an IV in my right arm. Because the tumor was found in my left breast, I could no longer have my blood pressure taken or blood withdrawn from my left arm; this was a precaution to prevent lymphedema. Before I was to begin this treatment, they had to make sure that my heart was strong enough, so I had an echocardiography. It was kind of cool to actually see my heart pumping. Right now, I was alive and well, and I planned to fight to keep it that way. I was cleared to resume chemotherapy and sent back downstairs. This time, I didn’t have a private room. I was next to several other patients who were there for infusion too; there was only a curtain that separated us. I could hear the other televisions and conversations, but I tried to tune them out. I tried to get comfortable in the chair while Jim and I waited for the nurse. The nurse had a hard time finding my vein yet again, so she had to place the IV in my hand where the veins were easier to find. The nurse started the medication; it was really cold. It sent chills throughout my entire body and not in a good way either. I could feel the icy liquid poison flowing in my veins. I could smell the saline, and it turned my stomach. I lay halfway up in my chair, allowing the medicine to enter my body, silently hoping that this would guarantee that the cancer wouldn’t return. After two hours, the first treatment was over. What a relief; this time, it was successful . . . one down and three more to go.

I felt fairly good, so we left the hospital and decided to go shopping for wigs. We headed off to a little wig shop that was recommended to me by my Pink Ribbon Network friends. I was getting hungry, and there just so happened to be a Marble Slab Creamery right next door. So I had a small strawberry shortcake waffle cone. It was delicious! We went into the wig shop and looked around. We searched and searched. I tried on curly wigs, straight wigs, short wigs, long wigs, red and brown wigs. I even tried on a punk rocker wig. We were actually having some fun with it, trying to make light of the situation. I still had a full head of thick, curly, brown hair, which made it hard to imagine what I would really look like after all my hair fell out. I thought I would try a blond wig on, hoping that I could pull it off—nope. It just didn’t look right. I think my skin was too olive or maybe it was that my eyebrows were too dark . . . so much for being a blonde. I guess I would never know if blondes really do have more fun. I had it narrowed down to two wigs when I started to feel really hot and sweaty. I had to make a decision fast because I was ready to get home. We made our purchase, got into the truck, and started home, which was an hour away. We hadn’t been on the road for five minutes when I started to feel the effects of the chemo. I was so nauseous. I wasn’t going to make it home. I wasn’t going to make it to a rest stop or to the side of the road. Luckily, we had a couple of plastic bags in the truck. I quickly filled the first plastic bag up with my turkey sandwich that I had for lunch earlier and the strawberry ice cream. I threw up the whole way home. I was miserable. I still, till this day, cannot eat turkey sandwiches because of that incident. I can, however, eat ice cream . . . Hmm, I wonder why that is? We made it home in record time. My husband got my medication, and I took the pills that were supposed to help. I was tired and was pretty sure that my stomach was completely empty. I fell asleep only to wake up to more throwing up. This time, it was a deep orange-brown color and all liquid. This was the chemo cocktail that my body was rejecting. I couldn’t eat that night and didn’t sleep very well either. I got sick one more time in the middle of the night before I finally was able to fall into a deep, restful sleep. I awoke the next morning still feeling queasy, but a lot better than the day before. I had to have a shot a day after each infusion. The shot contained a medicine called Neulasta, which helps boost your immune system by stimulating

your bone marrow to produce more white blood cells. My husband would ister the shot for me. Once again in the right arm only; nothing could be done to my left arm. The next week, I felt really tired, and I didn’t have much of an appetite. The food that I could eat was few and far between. It would change on a daily basis what my body could tolerate. I couldn’t drink pop or eat my favorite foods. Now, you would think that because you didn’t have an appetite that you would lose weight during chemo, but that was not the case, at least not with me. I ended up gaining about fifteen pounds during my therapy. I think it was because there are steroids in the medicine cocktail and the fact that you have no energy to exercise that caused the weight gain, plus I was pushing forty after all. I started to get this metal taste in my mouth, and everything began to taste nasty. The only thing that didn’t taste horrible to me was water, and I drank a lot of it. For some reason, I was really thirsty all the time. Chemotherapy affects everyone differently. You never know how a person will react or what side effects they may have. The most common side effects are nausea, constipation or diarrhea, fatigue, hair loss, and mouth sores. Ann had warned me about the mouth sores and recommended a mouthwash that helps prevent this side effect. I think it was called Prevention. It worked because I never had even one mouth sore. My side effects were nausea, constipation, and fatigue. I wouldn’t lose my hair for about fourteen days, they told me . . . great, something to look forward to . . . not really. Chemotherapy pushed me into early menopause. I didn’t have a period after my first month of treatment. No one warned me of this side effect . . . so it was a little alarming when Aunt Flo didn’t show. However, I quickly got used to not having one. Woo hoo! That was one of the positive effects of chemo. Even though my libido after surgery was very high, during chemotherapy, it was almost not existent. I didn’t think that I was pregnant, but it was a possibility— one that I did not want to happen. As soon as I was diagnosed, I had to stop taking birth control pills. I was asked if I wanted to have any more children before I began chemotherapy. I told the doctors no . . . I was done. I was only thirty-seven and my son was fifteen, but deep down inside, there was a 10 percent desire to have another child. I kind of felt like my youth had been taken from me way too soon.

Somehow, I managed to get through the next two weeks. Just as I was beginning to feel somewhat back to normal, it was time for my second round of chemo. I didn’t want to go back, but I knew I had no choice in the matter. I had to be strong. I had to fight this battle with everything I had. Thank goodness I decided not to work during treatment. There would have been no way I could have taught my second graders and complete chemotherapy every two weeks. I had saved up about sixty sick days, and boy, did I need every one. This time, I knew what to expect and was better prepared for it. My doctor prescribed an anti-nausea drug that would hopefully help curb some of my queasiness. This infusion was uneventful, and this time, we went straight home afterward so I could rest. I was tired and felt a little nauseous, but I didn’t throw up, and my appetite was better. I was able to eat some soup, grapes, and some bread. I went to bed early and awoke the next morning, feeling better than expected. Sometimes, it takes a full day or two to feel the full effect of the chemo. Surprisingly, I handled this round a lot better than the first . . . two down and two more to go. I was halfway done, yeah! At one point, I thought I had enough energy to make a Walmart run. I was home by myself and bored, so I ventured out for the first time in a long time and drove to Wally World, which was about fifteen minutes from my house. By the time I got to the parking lot, I was exhausted. I just sat in my car and waited, hoping that I could gather up enough energy to go inside and get some groceries. I finally got up enough strength to get out of the vehicle and into the store even though I was moving like a turtle. It took all I had to just walk through the store. I had to stop several times. I felt like I was eighty years old. I had no vigor and no strength. It took me about an hour to get just a few items. I quickly learned that even though I would have spurts of energy and think that I could do my normal tasks, it wouldn’t last long, and I just needed to take it easy and rest.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN GI Jane

It had been two full weeks since I started chemotherapy. I had just finished two treatments and was beginning to feel one of the side effects that I was dreading the most. One night, while making love to my husband, I could feel the tingling sensation on my scalp and knew that all my hair would soon fall out. I could feel the roots of my hair dying from the concoction that was supposed to save my life. I couldn’t help but become very emotional at the thought of losing my hair and began to tear up. I could handle being nauseous. I could handle being tired and weak, but could I handle being bald? I didn’t know the answer to that question, but I was about to find out. I had gotten my hair cut really short when I made the decision to go ahead with the chemotherapy, anticipating this side effect. I used to have luxurious thick long hair. Now, every time I washed or brushed my hair, chunks would fall out. Hair is more important to women than men. Hair helps define a woman and makes her feel beautiful, sexy, and confident. Let’s face it. If a woman isn’t happy with the way she looks, then no one around her will be happy. We are devastated when we get a bad haircut and feel ugly when we are having a bad hair day. Except for me this time, it wouldn’t be just a bad haircut that would grow back quickly. It wouldn’t just be a bad hair day that could be fixed with a new wash and style. No, this would be permanent for as long as the months of treatment would last and for some time after. My husband and I discussed shaving my head instead of letting it gradually fall out. We had planned on shaving my head as soon as I thought I was ready. I had to do something soon because time was running out. I had to feel like I had some control over the situation even though I knew deep down that I really didn’t. Jim came home from work one day, wearing a black knit hat. I didn’t think that was odd because it was the middle of February. As he walked through the door, he greeted me with a hug and a kiss and asked how my day was. I told him it

was okay. He had a big smile on his face. I could tell that he was hiding something. “Why are you smiling so much? What did you do?” I asked. He proceeded to take off his hat and presented a clean-shaven, bald head! “Oh my goodness!” I gasped. “If you’re going to be bald, then so am I,” he said. “I can’t let you go through this alone,” he continued. This is one of the many reasons why I love this man. We hadn’t discussed him doing this at all. He surprised me with this gesture of love and . The time had come to take control of my situation. My heart was beating like a drum. I was excited and nervous, anticipating how I would feel afterward. Jim and I walked to our bathroom where he searched to find the clippers. “Are you ready for this?” he asked. I peered in the mirror and took one last look at myself. I silently gave myself a pep talk, You can do this, Teresa . . . this is inevitable . . . just do it. Then I said, “Yes, let’s do this.” I took some scissors and began cutting big sections of my hair to get it short enough to use the electric razor. “There!” I said, pleased with my work. “I need your help for the rest,” I told my husband. He was prepared. He shaved a portion of my head. As the clippers were making a loud buzzing sound, I could feel a sense of gratification as my hair was methodically being removed. My husband’s hands were swift and efficient. Bam. One side was done, then the other, then the back. In no time, all my hair was gone except for a little bit of stubble that surrounded my round head. I viewed myself for the first time in the mirror, expecting to cry, but instead busted out laughing. I couldn’t help but giggle at the image staring back at me. I looked pretty good, I thought. “I look like GI Jane or Sigourney Weaver when she played in the movie Alien,” I said with delight. My head was perfectly round— no bumps or lumps. I felt like a huge weight had been lifted. My head felt light and airy. All my fears just flew out the window. It was then and there that I knew that I was going to be able to get through this. I was a tough, fearless woman who was going to win this fight against breast cancer and give beautiful baldness a new name. It turns out that being bald wasn’t so bad. I could hop in the shower, wash my stubbly head and the rest of my body then hop back out. I didn’t have to spend time blow-drying, curling or straightening my hair, or mess with ponytail holders and barrettes. I didn’t have to worry about bad hair days, at least for a while. I could get dressed and ready in less than twenty minutes, not that I had anywhere to go, but still, that was pretty cool, I thought.

As time went on, I realized that there was one down side to being totally bald. I would get really cold, especially at night when I went to bed. I had to wear a knit cap at night so I wouldn’t get chills. Sometimes, it would fall off, and I would wake up freezing. I didn’t realize how important hair is to keeping you warm. How do bald men deal with this problem? I wondered. Days ed by, and the stubble that I was so proud of began to fall out too. I didn’t care for this look as much as I did when I first shaved my head. I felt really strange—like an alien. My husband and I were both completely bald. Although his hair would begin to grow back immediately after he shaved it, mine didn’t grow at all. He would have to shave his head every day to maintain even with me. In order to deal with this trying situation, you have to have a sense of humor. So while we would sit on the couch watching TV, I would joke around and place my bald head on my husband’s bald head and go, “Bluh, bluh, bluh,” like in the movie Coneheads. Ahh . . . that was fun! In fact, every bit of hair on my body began to fall out. My legs and armpits were bare, which was kind of nice because I didn’t have to shave them. Hair in other personal places no longer existed either. This was something that I had to get used to. I would look in the mirror before I got dressed and think, Oh . . . my . . . God . . . I look like a little girl. However, I did still have my eyebrows and eyelashes, so I looked somewhat normal. We hadn’t been out by ourselves since before the diagnosis, and I finally felt well enough to go out to dinner. I wasn’t nauseous, and I had a ravenous appetite. I was craving for steak, so we went to Outback Steakhouse. Before we left the house, I placed the expensive short brown wig on my head so I would look like the rest of the people who would be enjoying a night out. I have to it; I looked pretty cute, and most of all, I looked normal. However, I didn’t feel normal. I had a hard time getting used to wearing my wig. I would place it on my head, and it just didn’t feel right. The synthetic hair would poke me in the eye even though I trimmed it and would put it in barrettes. The entire time I was there, I was worried that my wig would fall off and people would laugh or stare. I was worried about scaring the children who were in the restaurant as well. It was very uncomfortable and awkward. My eyes were watery and itchy. Now that I think about it, I may have been allergic to the synthetic material that the wig was made of. No wonder I hated it.

We had planned on catching a movie after dinner, but I wasn’t sure if I was up for it. My head was itching like crazy, and I just didn’t feel beautiful. We hadn’t been out in a very long time, so I decided to make the best of it. I wasn’t going to let this situation stop me from having a good time. We ended up going to the movie, but I had a hard time concentrating on the show because of my insecurities. I managed to get through it even though now I can’t even what movie we saw. I was just so ready to get out of there and head home. As soon as we were in the car, I pulled off that awful, furry mop to get some relief. I swore I would never wear it again, and I didn’t. So from then on, I just wore hats—nothing extravagant, mainly just knit caps, thankful it was still winter, and I could get away with that . . . at least for a little while.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN Blue Angel

The weeks ed by, and it was the night before my third infusion. Wow! That came really fast, I thought. Jim and I were getting ready for bed, but I wasn’t the least bit tired. I was wide awake and very talkative. We ended up talking about our childhood and our dreams. We talked for over an hour about life and what we had and are still going through right now. We talked about our future and where we planned to retire. We just enjoyed each other’s company and conversation. I wondered to myself if I was really going to be around to see our dreams come true. Yes, we caught the cancer early, and we were actively treating it, but there were no guarantees that the cancer wouldn’t come back maybe more aggressive and in other parts of my body. I worried that I wouldn’t be around to experience all the things that I wanted to. Would I be here to witness my son graduate high school and college? Would I be able to see Gunnar get married and have children? Was I going to be able to retire and travel with my husband? All these thoughts were in the back of my mind as I finally drifted off to sleep. That night, I had the most awe-inspiring dream. I dreamt of this glowing blue figure standing right in front of me. I couldn’t tell if it was a woman or a man. It definitely wasn’t in human form. The blue figure spoke to me through telepathy. He or she could read my mind, and I could read theirs. It had to be an angel from heaven visiting me in my dream. I feeling so peaceful and at ease. The blue angel placed his or her glowing hand on my left breast and said to me, “The cancer is gone . . . You are going to be okay . . . Go live your life unafraid.” I awoke, and tears were streaming down my face. I knew it was a very strange dream, but it felt so real. I wasn’t worried anymore about not being around to witness all the things that I wanted to. I knew for certain I was going to beat this disease. Jim and I headed to Vanderbilt for my third treatment. I was feeling very optimistic and happy because of what I experienced during the night. I went through the usual routine, which I have become very familiar with. First, to the

lab for blood work, then wait around a little bit, and finally to the chemo infusion room. This treatment went without a hitch. I was done in no time and grateful to only have one more infusion left. My dad had some business in Paducah, Kentucky. He came down for a quick visit the next day after my treatment. It was so good to see him. I know I must have looked awful even though he said I looked good. My face was swollen, and dark circles were a permanent fixture under my eyes. I looked sick and knew it. The effects of the chemotherapy were beginning to take a toll on me and my body. My back was beginning to hurt a little, so I couldn’t stand for any length of time. Now, my dad is going bald and has been for a number of years. He has even shaved his head completely bald in the past and reminded all of us of Kojak. So it must have been really hard to see his daughter look so sickly and with no hair. I joked around with him, saying that now I am the bald one with even less hair than him. He laughed, but I think it was a bit unsettling to witness it in person. He was really happy to see me, and I could tell he was very concerned about his baby girl. Jim grilled steaks that night. We had received these expensive Omaha Steaks for a Christmas present from Jim’s brother, Tom, and finally had an occasion to cook them. I was so thankful that I had an appetite because they were the best steaks ever. Even my dad thought so, and he has been to many restaurants and steakhouses in his lifetime. That’s saying a lot because Jim isn’t the best grillmeister. No, that title belongs to me, and I am the undefeated champion. He, on the other hand, is known for overcooking things. We had a wonderful visit, and I am sure my father wondered if that was going to be the last time he saw his little girl. I told my dad about the dream I had of the blue angel to reassure him that, indeed, I was going to be all right. Later that evening, my back began to hurt even more. I learned fifteen years ago that I had a high tolerance for pain because I was able to go through child labor without any medication. However, this back pain was excruciating. I couldn’t sleep; it hurt so bad. No position would alleviate the pain. Whenever the pain was too much and I felt really sick, I would usually go sleep in the spare bedroom so my husband could get some sleep before he had to go to work the next day. I could rest the following day. This time, I had to stay in my bed

because Dad was in the spare bedroom. I cried silently as I lay there, trying to go to sleep. I told my husband, if it doesn’t get any better by morning, he was going to have to take me to the emergency room for some morphine. Jim would rub my back like they do when a woman was in labor. The pain I was in was almost more than I could bear. It was worse than labor. I had never experienced such pain. The pain lasted throughout the night. I didn’t know what was causing this. I thought it was related to the chemo treatment that I had the day before. It wasn’t until one of my checkups with my oncologist that we figured out the cause. I explained to her what pain I was in and where it was located. She thought that the pain was because of the Neulasta shot that I had to have after each chemo treatment that stimulated the growth of my white blood cells, which grow inside the bone marrow. My body had been tricked into making thousands of white blood cells, and that was what was causing all the pain. That made sense to me, but I never wanted to go through that amount of pain ever again. So I decided, before my last treatment, not to get the last shot. I refused to go through that again.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN Where Is Everyone?

Some people say that God wouldn’t give you anything that you couldn’t handle, but this disease most definitely tests your faith, your marriage, your friendships, and all other relationships. When I was first diagnosed, everyone was calling to see how I was and if there was anything that they could do. My husband’s and my phone kept blowing up with concern from coworkers, friends, and family . It was a little overwhelming at first, but I felt so blessed to have so many people in my life who were there to offer and who cared enough to reach out. After being diagnosed, I continued working right up to my surgery. So I was consistently being asked by my coworkers how I was and if there was anything that they could do. At that time, all I really needed was their emotional and prayers. My good friend, Lea Ann, offered to make and bring me and my family dinner once a week. I was very appreciative of her generosity and gladly accepted her offer. She made dinner and came to my house two times before my surgery. They were delicious, and my family and I were so thankful. Even my coworkers got together to plan weekly meals while I was going through chemotherapy, which is when my family and I needed them the most. I was in no shape to cook during my treatments. It was really difficult to fix something to eat because I felt so nauseous and nothing was appealing to my appetite. I received e-mails and cards from a few people to help uplift my spirits, but no one came to visit me, not even my closest friends. Texting wasn’t as popular then as it is today. I only saw two people, Alicia and her husband, and that was because she lived next door to me and just so happened to work at the same place I did. She and Brad would bring me the meals that my coworkers made. They would visit for a few minutes, which made me feel really good. Of course,

I was thankful for the hospitality that my colleagues provided. We would schedule my infusions on a Friday; that way, I would have the weekend to recuperate with my husband’s help. During the week, he would go back to work, leaving me all by myself, and I understood that he had to go. I would sleep in most of the day anyways, but sometimes, I would get enough energy to check my e-mail or even talk on the phone. The only people who called were my family and Ann from the Pink Ribbon Network. Sometimes, I was too tired and weak to answer the phone, but they would leave me messages, and when I felt better, I would return their calls. I couldn’t understand why some of my closest friends wouldn’t call or come over to visit. Where was everyone? Unlike most of my coworkers, I didn’t have any family who lived near. My family lived hundreds of miles away. I wondered, If I had only a broken leg, would they have come by? Were people just afraid or were they just too absorbed in their own lives? You really find out who your true friends are when you go through something like this. You find out who you can depend on and whom you can’t. I soon realized that I didn’t have as many true friends as I thought I did. I had just met Ann, and she was pretty much the only friend calling me on a regular basis to check on me and helping me through this difficult time. My only company was my two dogs, Evee and Buddy. I didn’t have a fenced-in backyard, so I would have to get bundled up and take them out one at a time on their leashes so they wouldn’t wander off and run away; this took a lot of energy and made me extremely tired. Instead of being a comfort, they became a hindrance, especially when I was trying to rest. Boy, they are lucky they are adorable; it’s the only thing that kept them alive. Ha! Ha! Taking a shower and getting dressed took a lot out of me as well. I couldn’t sweep, vacuum, or do laundry. I was too weak, but every once in a while, I would get a burst of energy and start one of my household chores. It was so frustrating not being able to do what I was once quite efficient at. I was the queen of multitasking . . . at least I used to be. It was all I could do to prepare and eat breakfast and lunch by myself. I had a lot of time to think—way too much time. My brain worked fine, but my body just wasn’t cooperating. I was home all day and had no one to talk to. By

the time my husband came home, I was itching for attention and adult conversation. The house wasn’t as immaculate, and dinner wasn’t waiting for him like it used to when he came home. I felt useless and depressed. I sure could have used some encouragement and from my so-called friends. They weren’t going through this—I was. I guess it was easy to forget me—out of sight and out of mind. However, I wasn’t out of sight. I would go into work occasionally after the kids had left to plan with my team. I couldn’t be around children because of the germs. I had to wear a face mask to cover my nose and mouth because my immune system was shot. I was bald and looked sickly, but I still manage to come up to help. This experience has taught me that many people, unfortunately, don’t know what to say or do when someone they know is diagnosed with cancer and has to go through chemotherapy. My advice to those people is to call often, send letters, and visit. Even if you think that your friend is doing well, keep asking and offering help and . It will make all the difference in the world.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN I Did It!

It was early March, and the winter weather was still hanging on. I was so ready for spring. My last treatment was scheduled for the sixth. It was finally coming down to the wire. I was almost finished with chemotherapy, and my body was clearly showing the awful side effects of treatment. I was getting weaker and weaker with every session. I was really lucky that Jim was able to go to all my doctor’s appointments and me through the weekend after treatments. However, for my last chemotherapy treatment, he needed to go out of town the Sunday after for some more military training, so I had to call in the reinforcements. It was time I requested Mom’s assistance. Mom was flying into Nashville the Saturday after my treatment to help while Jim was gone. Jim and I went in Friday to have my final session, but when the blood work came back, they said that my platelet count was too low and they weren’t going to be able to give me my last infusion. “Really?” I said with more excitement than anticipated. Yes, I had another few days of normalcy, but I didn’t like putting off the inevitable. I would still have to come back for my last treatment on Monday. Jim and I stayed in Nashville for lunch. It was like having an afternoon “date” with my hubby. I was glad my appetite was back so I could actually enjoy my food. We had an unexpected pleasant day. I really couldn’t wait for my mom to come visit and was getting excited, anticipating her arrival. I hadn’t seen her in a while. The next afternoon, I went by myself to pick up my mother from the airport. I waited patiently for her to come down the escalator so she could retrieve her luggage from baggage claim. Mom looked great. I quickly walked up to her and gave a huge hug. I could tell that she was really happy to see her baby girl. It had been three months since she had learned about my diagnosis. We talked nonstop all the way home. By the time we reached Clarksville, we were starving, so we

stopped for a quick bite to eat. Once again, I was thrilled that I could eat something other than bland food. We headed to Pembroke with our bellies full and our hearts content. The next day, Mom and I went shopping. We had just moved into our new house four months ago, and it was in desperate need of some personality. I wanted some shears to go in the living room windows and had the brilliant idea that Mom and I could make them. It took us a while, but we found some cute material to transform into shears. Then we bought enough curtains to decorate every window in the house. It wasn’t long before we were measuring, cutting, sewing, and putting up valances. We spent the weekend getting all the windows in the house dressed. The house was beginning to have a warm welcome feeling to it. I wasn’t alone during the day, which was a welcomed change. Mom was cooking, cleaning, and keeping me company. I was so thankful that she was there to help me get through the last week of chemo. Before we knew it, it was early Monday morning. I was finally starting to feel like my old self again, and I didn’t want to lose that wonderful feeling. I was beginning to get cold feet. I would soon get sick again and battle with the crazy side effects of chemo. I told my mom that I didn’t want to do the last treatment. She was very ive. She said, “If you don’t want to do it, then don’t!” I really wanted to just quit and say, “I’m done.” However, deep down inside, I knew that I had to finish what I started. I had to follow my doctors’ advice because they were the experts. I had to prove to myself and everyone around me that I could tough it out and complete this last round. I don’t know how other women do more than four treatments because it was all I could do to muster up enough courage and strength to finish. There were no delays on the freeway, so we were on time for my appointment. I went through the usual routine that I had become accustomed to. First, to lab for blood work, then wait for the results to see if I could handle the treatment, then off to the chemo chair. Everything came back good, and we were sent to the chemo infusion room— hopefully for the last time. The nurse prepped me for the treatment while my mom and I chatted to try to keep my mind off what was to come. The initial smell of the saline made me feel nauseous. I thought I was going to throw up

right then and there, but the moment ed and I was able to resume with the therapy. We were there for two hours while the medicine emptied into my bloodstream, taking one last stand against the cancer cells. I tried to sleep for a bit while my mom went to get my meds filled, but I kept thinking, This is the last one. I had to get up to use the bathroom several times like I did with the previous treatments. It wasn’t easy to maneuver the IV stand and walk the hundred feet to the restroom. I was so glad that the doors and stalls were wide enough to accommodate the IV stand. When I peed, it was a bright reddish-orange color because of the color of the liquid medicine. Thank God, I won’t ever have to do this again . . . back to the chemo chair to wait it out. The seconds turned to minutes, and the minutes turned to hours. It felt like an eternity to finish this last round. When I was all done, the nurses gave me a small celebration. They gave me a button that said, “It was no fun . . . but I’m all done!” I kept it and placed it in my jewelry box as a keepsake. I did it! I completed all four rounds of chemotherapy. The worst was over . . . well, almost. Mom drove us home, and of course, I went straight to bed. I woke up several times to throw up. I hated feeling this way but knew that once this was over that I wouldn’t ever have to feel that way again . . . well, unless I got drunk or caught a stomach virus or had food poisoning. All of which I wasn’t going to let happen anytime soon. Mom took really good care of me like I knew she would. She took care of Gunnar and the dogs too, which was a big weight off me. Now, I could concentrate on getting healthier and stronger. Slowly, I began to feel better. I was still very weak and nauseous. Mom stayed with me the entire week. My appetite was starting to come around, and before Mom left, she made one of my favorite dishes—navy bean soup with ham hock bone with bits and pieces of ham along with homemade cornbread. Yum! No one knows how to comfort you better than your mom.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN Mommy’s Baby Girl

When I think of my mother these are the words that come to mind: generous, loving, dependable, and talented. My mother would give the shirt off her back if she thought someone else needed it more than her. She protects and comforts people, especially if you’re one of hers. Family is everything to her. One of my earliest memories of my mother is sitting on her lap as a toddler while she’d sing “Swing Low Sweet Chariot” in order to rock me to sleep. My mom’s singing voice was, and still is, very soothing to people, especially young children. I loved hearing her sing. Mom was a stay-at-home mom for a long time and very involved in our day-today lives. Mom ran our house like a well-oiled machine. She kept things in order and made sure things got done. With four young children and a husband to feed, Mom had her work cut out for her. She would get up early and make us breakfast when we were little. I loved it when she made cream of wheat or pancakes before we went to school. She would pack our lunches, making sure it was what we, each one of us, preferred. There was always a snack waiting for us when we came home. There was never a shortage of sweets in my house. She made big hearty meals, and she always made more than enough. We had a lot of leftovers, so there was always something to eat. We may have been on a tight budget, but we never went hungry. I spending many days in the kitchen, watching her cook and bake. Sometimes, she would let me help her. When she was making pie dough, she would always make extra so I could make a jelly-filled tart. Those tarts were so delicious. At night, she would read us bedtime stories from the Bible and other books. I sitting on Steven’s bed, listening to my mother read about “Brer Rabbit” from Uncle Remus’s stories. Steven and I would crack up laughing

when she would get into character as she read. I still can hear her mimicking a high-pitched voice, “Please don’t throw me in the briar patch,” to this day. As we got older, she would let us listen to her old records. I loved singing and dancing along to Dion’s “Runaround Sue,” Johnny Horton’s history songs like “The Bismark” and “1814,” and Paul Revere and the Raider’s “Indian Reservation.” We would sing and dance for hours in the family room. My mom was very active in our extracurricular activities. She was my Girl Scout leader and my softball coach. She would drive me to and from practices, to dance classes, gymnastic lessons, and pretty much anywhere else I wanted to go. Sometimes after gymnastics, she and I would go to Big Boy Restaurant and share a strawberry Belgian waffle. There would always be one-fourth left because our bellies were too full. I was able to have some much needed one-onone time with Mom, something that was hard to come by when you have three other siblings. Those are the kind of memories that stick with you throughout the years. I recall one year, she made everyone in the family robes for Christmas. That is a lot of sewing. However, I think I was the one who benefited the most by her sewing capabilities. I was so tiny that the clothes from the department stores didn’t fit right, and back then, it was cheaper to make them than buy them. When I grew up and moved to with my first husband; it was really hard on her. I left her with my dad and my brother, Steven. She was living in a testosterone-filled house. She was lonely and depressed. I missed her companionship as well. So when I found myself pregnant at the age of twentytwo, she didn’t hesitate to fly across the Atlantic Ocean to be with her little girl. She ended up staying with us five weeks before Gunnar was born and six weeks after. I didn’t realize back then what a huge sacrifice that was. My dad really had a hard time without her. Mom and I have always had this special connection. Her hands were actually the first ones to touch me when she delivered me herself all those years ago. I always ired her and wanted to be like her in many ways. She taught me how to be a good person. She showed me the importance of being on time and organized. She always encouraged me in any endeavor that I chose to pursue. I wanted to make her proud. I am who I am today because of her positive

influence and guidance. She is one of my biggest fans and loves me unconditionally. She is usually the first person I call when something exciting or devastating happens to me. She is also the first one I call on for advice because I know she will always be there to me no matter what. This is why I am proud to be Mommy’s baby girl.

CHAPTER NINETEEN Changes

One day after my last chemotherapy session, my son’s father, Jim, dropped Gunnar off from a weekend visit. He told me that he needed to talk about something. Jim, Gunnar, and I sat down in the dining room. Jim approached the subject cautiously. He had told me that Gunnar and he had been discussing the possibility of Gunnar coming to live with him in Oak Grove. He had already checked with the school district and Gunnar would be able to stay at the same school. Jim and I had been divorced for over six years, and Gunnar lived primarily with me. I had practically raised him by myself for his first fifteen years, and now, his father wanted his chance. He had retired from the army a year earlier and just got back from Afghanistan as a civilian contractor. He was single again. So it would just be the two of them, and he wouldn’t be deploying anymore. Jim was probably thinking that I was going to protest the idea from the look on his face. I was going through a very difficult time with my treatment, and I knew that Gunnar needed his father now. He was a teenage boy, and I had absolutely no clue of how boys think or what they need at that age, but I knew deep down that it was a great idea. I was too weak to be the mother that I needed to be. I could focus on getting well and not worry about neglecting my son. Gunnar would only be eleven miles up the road, and I would see him on the weekends and whenever I wanted to during the week. Also, Buddy the dog would live with the guys too, which would be a huge relief. It was a welcome change—one that I thought I would never agree to. So when spring break rolled around, Gunnar moved in with his dad. Everyone was so happy. My new husband and I were happy. Gunnar and his dad were happy. I became the every other weekend parent, which I actually enjoyed. I was able to focus on myself and get healthy. It was a wonderful change for everyone.

Sadly, Gunnar and Jim only had just short of a year together before Jim ed away at the age of forty-one. It was so unexpected. He had a heart attack. I didn’t know that heart disease ran in his family. I did know that he didn’t eat very healthy, and I would get on him about it, but he never listened to me when we were married, so why would this time be different. I it like it was yesterday. Gunnar knocked on my door and jolted me out of a deep sleep. It was around four o’clock in the morning, Sunday, March 7, 2010. He told me that the police called his cell and said that Dad had a heart attack. Gunnar handed me his phone, and due to the fact that I was in shock and still not quite fully awake, I accidentally hung up on the policeman. He called back a few seconds later and explained to me that Gunnar’s father had been taken to the Blanchfield Army Hospital and that the doctors were still working on him. He then asked me how far away from the hospital I was. I said we could get there in about twenty minutes. Gunnar and I were dressed and on the road in a matter of minutes. I was in disbelief, and I wanted to get to the hospital as soon as possible. I had only gotten to the end of our street when the doctor called me and told me not to hurry. I knew then that he was gone. I felt it. I knew that the doctor just didn’t want to tell me over the phone. I still drove as fast as I could and rushed to get there, hoping that it wasn’t too late. We arrived at the emergency room, and someone was at the door to greet us. Gunnar and I were led to a room that was separated by curtains. The doctor came in and proceeded to say that Jim had a heart attack and that they were unable to revive him. My heart sank to the floor. I blurted out, “No!” I saw Gunnar have the same reaction. We both started to cry. They gave us a few minutes and then asked if we wanted to see him. I nodded my head. We were only a few feet away from him. He was in the room on the other side of the emergency doors. When they opened the curtain and I saw him lying on the table motionless, my knees buckled, and I almost fell to the floor, but the doctor caught me. I couldn’t believe my own eyes. Jim was gone. I felt so bad for my son. Gunnar looked at me and said, “I will never be able to talk to him again. I didn’t get a chance to say good-bye.” I just hugged him and held him in my arms while we both cried. I kept thinking, What the hell happened? He was only forty-one. Poor

Gunnar would have to grow up without his father. My heart ached like never before. Gunnar had a short sixteen years with both his parents, and now, it was just me. I never, in a million years, thought that his dad wouldn’t be here to celebrate with me our son’s accomplishments and milestones. It had only been a year that Gunnar had to get over the fear of losing his mother, and now, in the blink of an eye, his dad was gone. I was so glad that Gunnar had a chance to live with his father. We are grateful for the time we had with him, but miss him terribly. You never know how long you have left to be with the ones you love. Never take life for granted. Live life to its fullest. These are the lessons that I have learned and come to appreciate in my short life.

CHAPTER TWENTY Six weeks

It had been about four weeks since my last chemotherapy treatment, and my hair was beginning to come back in . . . except it didn’t feel or look like my hair had originally. It was coming in white and fluffy. It felt like the down from a baby chick. OMG! I looked like a little baby bird! Definitely not as attractive as when I first shaved it, but at least it was growing. Hair was starting to grow everywhere, faster on the rest of my body than on my head. My cheeks had what looked like white peach fuzz all over them. The hair on my cheeks reminded me of Hugh Jackman in the movie X-Men. I would fluff up the hair on the sides of my cheeks and say, “Look, I’m Wolverine!” That became a running joke when things got me a little down. All I would have to do is fluff up the hair and say, “Wolverine,” and my husband and I would crack up laughing. Chemotherapy and spring break were over, and it was time to get on with my life. I had enough of being in limbo and was eager for a normal routine. Jim was ready to deploy again, and I was excited to get back to my kids. There were only six weeks left of school before summer break, which just so happened to be the same amount of time that I had for my next step—radiation. I decided to have my radiation therapy at the EC Green Cancer Center in Hopkinsville, Kentucky, because I would have to have it every day for the next six weeks; it made sense to stay close to home. I had met Dr. Michael Murray, my radiologist, months prior to discuss when and what to expect during my treatment. During this visit, he told me that there used to be a debate among radiologists and oncologists as to which treatment a patient should start first, but after much research, it was proven to have chemotherapy then radiation. Dr. Murray actually used to work at Vanderbilt many years ago. He was highly recommended by my Pink Network friends as well as my Vandy doctors.

My first appointment after chemo consisted of preparation for radiation. I had to get measured for where Dr. Murray wanted to pinpoint my radiation. I lay down on a very hard table while a technician placed my arm above my head. She drew X marks and lines on my left breast in blue permanent marker. These marks had to stay throughout the duration of my treatment, so I couldn’t wash them off. After that, I had to get fitted for an arm mold. It was kind of like a cast. The mold would make sure that my arm didn’t move during treatment. The cast and the markings allowed for accuracy of the radiation rays to hit their intended targets. The high energy waves from the machine would kill any existing cancer cells that might have been floating around in my breast. The goal was to destroy or damage the cancer cells so they couldn’t grow or divide anymore. I went back to work with a renewed zest for life. My hair was barely there, so I had to wear something on top of my head because even though it was the middle of April, my head would still get very cold, and I still looked very strange. I refused to wear any wigs, and I didn’t look that good in hats. So I decided to buy bandanas in every color they had; to match whatever outfit that I was going to wear to school. They looked pretty and cool at the same time. The bandanas kept my head the perfect temperature. All my coworkers and students loved seeing what color bandana I would wear next. Every day for the next six weeks, I would leave work around one o’clock and drive myself to the EC Green Cancer Center to get my radiation. It was only about a five-minute drive from work, so I was able to go on my planning time to complete the rest of my treatment. When I showed up at the center, I was treated like a VIP (very important patient). I even had a special parking permit that allowed me to park really close to the back door. Juler or Byron, my radiation technicians, would be waiting for my arrival at the back door so I wouldn’t have to wait. These two guys were quite the characters. They were always friendly and made me feel at ease during the entire process. I actually looked forward to seeing them every day. They made me laugh, so I didn’t feel awkward or uncomfortable. Once I walked through the door, I had to go to the back and get changed into a hospital robe. I had to make sure that I wore clothes that were easy to get in and out of because I didn’t have much time before I had to head back to work. I could still wear my pants and socks during the treatment. Someone would weigh

me before each session. I wasn’t allowed to lose or gain any weight during this treatment because it would mess up the amount of radiation that I was able to tolerate or have per Nurse Sheila’s and the doctors’ orders. The technician would grab my arm mold that was on the counter with the other molds for different patients. He would help me lie down on my back and make sure that I was in the correct position so everything lined up. He would place an X-ray shield on the bottom half of my body to ensure no harm would come to my other organs. I had a sheet and the protective cover that helped keep me warm in the large and airy room. Then he would leave the room and go to another area to operate the machinery. He would talk to me over the loudspeaker and give me a heads-up to when he would start the laser. I had to lie very still, but I didn’t have to hold my breath. I was able to breathe normally during the seconds of treatment. The machine made a ticking noise, and a laser beam lit up on my exposed breast as the radiation turned my breast tissue into mush. It didn’t hurt at all. The only discomfort was lying on the hard, cold table. I was done in no time. I would quickly get dressed and head back to work to finish out the day. Once a week, I would meet with Dr. Murray to make sure my treatment was going smoothly and that there were no complications. He advised me to use some kind of lotion to help with the healing process and to keep my breast from becoming too dry. He recommended a brand of lotion especially made for radiation therapy patients called Myoderm. He also suggested, if I could get away with it, to not wear a bra because it would rub up against the damaged skin and cause it to tear, which would hinder treatment. Well, because I am a smallbreasted woman, I didn’t have to wear a bra. I just wore a very comfortable Tshirt under my shirts, and no one would even notice that I wasn’t wearing a bra. This helped in the healing process. He also recommended that I kept stretching and exercising my left arm so I wouldn’t lose mobility. I followed his advice to a tee and did very well with my treatment. As the weeks progressed, my left breast began to get red and irritated. It looked like I had a sunburn. It really didn’t hurt that bad. Some patients have a hard time dealing with radiation and the side effects, but I was handling the treatment like a champ. My energy levels were high enough to teach for the rest of the school year. The treatment didn’t make me too tired, and I actually felt so much better than I did with the chemotherapy.

My little brother, Steven, his wife, Christina, and my two nieces, Alexa and Eliana, drove from Minnesota for a visit. I was so happy that they could come down to Kentucky. I don’t get to see my brother and his family as often as I would like to because they live so far away. I ended up taking the day off from work to spend with them. We took the girls to the park before my daily dose of radiation. Alexa was about four years old, and Eliana was two. Alexa did not like seeing me with a peach fuzz head. So I had to make sure I had my bandana on in front of her. Eliana, on the other hand, did not care. She was so loving and sweet. She didn’t want to let me out of her sight. She constantly wanted me to hold her. Steven helped mow the grass for me because, due to the radiation, I couldn’t operate the riding lawn mower without it hurting my breast because of the rough terrain. All that bouncing made it very uncomfortable. Dr. Murray also told me to limit my exposure to the sun during treatment as well. I was very thankful for my little brother helping without me even having to ask. I did have enough strength to grill out and play a little bit with my nieces. Gunnar was able to spend the weekend with us and enjoy his uncle and cousins. I love those girls so much. I just wish I was able to spend more time with them. I was so lucky to get a visit from my sister, my father, my mother, and my brother to help me during this difficult time. It made me realize how lucky I am to have the family I do. Family is everything to me. My husband just missed my brother’s visit and made it home just in time for my last week of radiation. By this time, my left breast was turning a dark brown. I would play around with him and tell him he had actually married two different women. On one side, I was creamy white and, on the other, brown and tan. Ha! Ha! Over time, the darkness faded, but now, I have a permanent tan underneath my breast where the tumor was. No biggie really. I’m alive and healthy, so I can’t complain about that. June 8, 2009 came pretty fast, and it was my last day of radiation. It was kind of a bittersweet day. The last six weeks, I had become very familiar and used to my technicians, nurse, and doctor. They felt like family, but I was so thankful that it was over. Now, the hard parts were truly finished. To help celebrate this milestone, Jim

bought firecrackers, and we lit up the dark sky that night. What a long and hard journey we had just been through. We had a lot to rejoice. Summer was quickly on its way, and we had many plans.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE Relay for Life

Relay for Life is a fund-raiser that many cities host annually to help raise money for the American Cancer Society. This fund-raiser is different than most because it starts in the evening and continues to the next morning. There are many teams that participate and walk around the track to raise monies for all types of cancers; this year just so happened to be the twenty-fifth-year anniversary of the Relay for Life. It was Christian County’s seventeenth year hosting this event and was held at the Stadium of Champions, which is our local high schools’ football stadium. For this event, you are supposed to have at least one member from your team walking throughout the entire night. There are many events and ceremonies to celebrate cancer survivors and their families as well as loved ones who have lost their battle to this disease. At night, they light candles in white paper bags to honor loved ones who have been afflicted with cancer; these bags are called luminaries. This year’s theme was “Competing for a Cure.” Our team met to discuss what we would call ourselves. It had to be something relating to sports to go with the competition theme. We had many ideas and suggestions, but we decided to name our team The Ultimate Cancer Fighting Champions! My husband is a huge UFC (Ultimate Fighting Champion) fan, and he helped cultivate the idea. For those of you who don’t know what the UFC is, it’s a mixed martial arts/wrestling/boxing competition that has really started to grow quickly in the last few years. It is very entertaining to watch, even for women, but especially for men. The UFC has been around since 1993 and has really become more popular in the past few years. Our team uniforms consisted of white shirts with a pink ribbon on the front and pink shorts. I wanted to purchase pink boxing gloves, but they were kind of expensive to use only once. No one wanted to spend that kind of money; teachers are very frugal. This was our very first year to attend the relay, and we were very green. We had no idea what to expect, but we anticipated a lot of fun.

My team had been planning for Relay for Life for months now to represent Martin Luther King Jr. Elementary. We held numerous fund-raisers to collect funds for the American Cancer Society. We had bake sales and sold discount cards, drinks, and popsicles at our school’s field day to raise money for our team. Our goal was to raise two thousand dollars. I don’t think we met our goal, but we did contribute to the cause. The forty teams together ended up raising $150,552. My mother flew in, and my sister drove down to participate in the Relay for Life event. It was more than a fund-raiser to all of us. It was a celebration of life. The three of us had not been together since our last family reunion in 2006. We had a lot of fun catching up and reminiscing about the old days. I was so happy that I had my two biggest ers here with me to celebrate the end of my cancer treatment. I decided to mark the end of my treatment by buying a brand-new car. My 1999 GMC Jimmy was on its last leg, and I desperately needed a new vehicle. I wanted something that was good on gas while still being stylish and sporty. I had always liked the Toyota Camry since I first saw the 1991 versions on the market years ago. My husband had a 2005 Toyota Tundra and, before that, a Tacoma, so I knew this new car would last many years. Truth is . . . I had been eyeing a new Camry for some time now. Jimmy was finally paid in full, and after what I had just put my body through, I felt like I deserved something special. So a few days before my family was scheduled to arrive, I bought a red Camry with gray leather interior. It had a built-in navigation system along with butt warmers for when it gets cold as well as many other amenities. It was beautiful! That was the first brand-new car I had ever bought. I drove my new car to the relay with my mom, sister, and niece while my husband and son followed us in his truck. We had to get there early to help set up the tent and decorate for our team. It was almost ten when we showed up, and it was already beginning to get really hot. After all, it was June in the south. There were so many different booths. Each booth was colorfully decorated. Some were more creative than others, but they were all unique and pretty cool to see. Some teams were selling additional food or items to help continue their fund-raising to the very last minute to add to their final totals. Some teams sold ice cream, which, because it was so hot, was a really big hit with everyone. Others sold T-shirts and knickknacks. One of my favorite booths sold chili tacos in a bag. The tacos in a bag consisted of a Lay’s bag of Fritos chips opened up

with a big spoonful of chili and shredded cheddar cheese. Oh my goodness, was it delicious. One of the very first events they hold is to honor the cancer survivors who are attending the relay. This year, we all received a purple shirt with the Relay for Life logo in white and on the back the word Survivor was also in white print. They had us line up according to how many years we were considered cancerfree. The ones who had been a cancer survivor for more than twenty-five years were at the front of the line. Then the line went chronologically backward to the least amount of years. Well, I had only been a survivor for a few months now, so I was in the back of the group of survivors. All of us walked proudly around the track while our teams and loved ones cheered us on. It was such a wonderful feeling to be alive.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO Summer

We had originally planned on taking a romantic trip to Belize or Turks and Caicos Island in the Caribbean, but because I was still recovering from therapy, we decided to postpone that vacation for next summer. Doctors recommended that I stay out of the sun as much as possible while I was still recovering from the radiation therapy. Although Dr. Murray approved our summer trip, we ended up staying in Kentucky while family and friends visited us. My mother-in-law and sisters-in-law, Katie and Donna, brought my stepdaughter, Chloe, down for the summer. Of course, they were wanting to see their son and little brother too. They only stayed for a couple of days, but we were able to go to Nashville for a day and then celebrate with fireworks again the night before they left. Jim is always looking for reasons to play with fire and blow things up. Ha! While we were in Nashville, we ended up eating at Chappy’s, a seafood restaurant on Church where the owner came from New Orleans after Hurricane Katrina. I personally do not like seafood, but Jim’s mom loves it, so we decided to try it. They had this alligator butter, which Chloe and I decided best not to try, but everyone else did. We ended up having a great time. I always enjoy Jim’s family. His mom is such a sweetheart, and his sisters are a joy to be around. Next, we had a quick visit from my dear friend Crystal and her two children, Chris and Cayle. They drove up from Atlanta, Georgia. I hadn’t seen her in many years. Crystal and I were stationed together in around the same time, way back in 1992. We were just babies back then, and now, we had children of our own. She and I are like family, like so many other military families have come to be during tours overseas. Crystal had just recently lost her husband to the war in Afghanistan, so I was very eager to see her. She needed me as much as I needed her. Crystal and I have always been there for one another no matter how many miles separated us. We share a special bond that goes back twenty years.

It felt really nice to have all our close loved ones visit because isn’t that what life is all about? Although I enjoyed all their visits very much, it really took a toll on me physically. I was starting to feel very tired, which was one of the most common side effects of radiation. All the visits were over, but right now, I had to focus on getting and staying healthy by relaxing and not trying to do too much. The summer went by way too fast, and before I knew it, it was time to start back to work again. In Kentucky, they start back to school in August. I prefer to begin school after Labor Day, but no one asked me. Ha ha! I don’t think I really had any downtime during the summer. Back to the rat race, as my father would say.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE Survivor

Being diagnosed with breast cancer shakes you to your core and changes who you are, how you think, and how you live! This experience takes you on an emotional, physical, and mental roller coaster, one that no one really wants to jump on and ride. All of a sudden, you realize just how precious time is. When you’re younger, you don’t think about what will happen if you’re no longer here on earth. I know I didn’t. Now, I’m much more conscious of the life choices I make—it’s not all about me. It’s about family, friends, and living life to its fullest. Gunnar graduated high school. Yes! I made it! I’m so thankful that I was able to witness this milestone in my son’s life, but I plan on sticking around to experience many more. After I completed chemotherapy and radiation, my oncologist put me on a drug called tamoxifen. I have to take a pill every day for the next five years. To my understanding, this drug basically blocks the estrogen hormone from my breast and helps prevent the cancer from recurring. However, some of the side effects are hot flashes and vaginal dryness. Oh great! I thought . . . More menopausal side effects at the age of forty. But when compared to chemo, this was a minor inconvenience that I would just have to get used to. I had to see my surgeon, my oncologist, and my radiologist every three months for the first year after my diagnosis, then after the first year, every six months. My radiologist wanted me to spread the appointments out so that I am seen on a regular basis. He didn’t want me to go too long without being seen by a professional. Oh, he really does care about me. At one of my appointments, I asked my oncologist when I would feel like my old self again. She said, “A year.” A full year . . . really? Truth is, I don’t think I will ever completely feel “normal” again, and that’s okay. It’s been three years since I finished my treatment. I still have hot flashes and night sweats, but I’m dealing with them on a night-by-night basis. It helps to relieve the symptoms by throwing off the covers in the middle of the night or by

finding the cool spot under the sheets with my feet—kind of like I used to do when I was a kid. I still see my doctors every six months. I’m still taking tamoxifen and will for another two years. My hair is now long enough to put up in a ponytail. I actually do feel pretty “normal” now, but deep down, I know I’m not like most women. Only my fellow survivors know what I have been through and continue to go through. We have a special bond that will forever link us together. For without them, my family and friends, I know I would have never been able to get through this fight. I try not to think about the cancer, the what ifs, and all that I went through, but I am reminded every time I raise my left arm and look in the mirror; I see the scars and the discoloration of my skin. It doesn’t make me sad. It makes me happy, proud, and thankful that I’m still here—alive and well. I’m so grateful for the second chance that I have been given. I never thought, Why me God? or Poor pitiful me! I did feel like this is just one of life’s obstacles that will require me to either give up or fight. I like that saying “What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.” I keep thinking of Destiny’s Child song, “I’m a survivor, I’m not gon’ give up, I’m not gon’ stop, I’m gon’ work harder, I’m a survivor, I’m gon’ make it, I will survive, keep on surviving.” That song is my theme song in life. I’m a survivor, and I will not give up!